


Fellfire Secrets

by Lrihgo



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternative Universe - Banned Magic, Dark Magic, F/F, Graphic Description, Magic School, Moral Ambiguity, NSFW, Religious War, Rough Body Play, Sexual Content, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8805391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lrihgo/pseuds/Lrihgo
Summary: It is treasonous to practice the magic of Grima in the Republic of Plegia. It is even taboo to mention the Fell Dragon's name. In a world where an entire magic practice has been wiped off of the face of the planet, it finds bored valedictorian Robin in the shape of an unsettling classmate. Despite the dangers of being caught with the Books of Grima, Robin hungers for the challenge of this forgotten magic more than anything she has ever known.





	1. Chapter 1

“Therefore, it is wise to resource and plan ahead for your allotment of magical power. On the battlefield, your energy and wits will get you much farther than an oaf swinging an axe. Until then, you must come to understand your limits and always be one step ahead,” the professor tied up the segment nicely with a resonating _thump_ of her tome onto her oak desk before she turned to the map that stretched across the entire wall of the front of the classroom. “Now, for rationing in the field. In a more material sense…”

Briefly, Robin’s eyes returned to the professor, only to be thoroughly disappointed that she was moving on to something equally as remedial as what had preceded it. 

Rationing resources to troops, how to minimize strategic losses in extreme cases of cold, fire, or attack, the prioritization of certain lives over others in the worst case scenario... Robin could probably make an outline and lecture on the subject herself, cracking a smile in amusement at the thought. She wouldn’t ask for extra credit and could even offer to tutor for the material in a much more interesting environment—one that wasn’t a dry, meandering lecture. 

There was an important balance between the art of kiss-assery and attempting to appear genuinely interested in the class’s content.

It seemed that the more Robin attended lectures, the less the instructor actually had to teach her. Her own private studies sufficed in quelling the desire for knowledge past what her teachers could give. Recently, she found that she had to dig more and more to find something worth absorbing. 

Attendance in class wasn’t required, but if Robin was to distinguish herself from any magician who can pick up a book, and instead join the ranks of the most powerful mages in the Plegian army herself, she had an image to build. And that started with perfect attendance.

A small piece of folded parchment sailed onto her book. Out of natural reflex, she looked towards its source direction, searching for any gazes that might meet hers across the semi-circular lecture hall.

From across the hall, a pair of fiery violet eyes met her own, peering and unrelenting. Behind folded fingers was a wry, thin smile. Then, a wink. The familiarity of those eyes on her sent a chill down Robin’s spine.

As smoothly as she could manage, Robin’s eyes returned to the paper.

Since she had arrived at the academy, Robin had gained an... admirer, of some sort. She had never actually spoken with her, but the fact that the dark-haired adept mage continued to appear in all of her classes, follow her every move while hidden from sight, and frequent the dormitory halls in which she lived, Robin was aware that she was dealing with someone who wasn’t very concerned with hiding her unsettling nature. Almost reluctantly, she reached to take hold of the paper. When she unfolded it, she couldn’t help but admire the sharp but wispy handwriting right away.  
_  
Library, after mess hall. Enter, take three lefts and then another. You really want to be there._

 _~Tharja_  
  
Robin catalogued this information into her mind before staring back at the professor, folding the parchment up. So, finally she had a name to match the face. The message was ambiguous enough for her to consider the angles on which she could approach this. 

Robin doubted her safety would be in jeopardy. The Tharja that she knew very little about seemed disinterested in bringing actual harm to her. At least, that's what she concluded by her harmless enough stalking. At this point she would have had ample time to do something to Robin, if that was her intention. Robin had learned to tune her out, eventually. 

Then, Robin realized that she could get an answer concerning her stalker’s interests in her. She could deal with some sort of love confession, if it came to it. She had turned down plenty of people and their romantic intentions with her before she attracted Tharja’s attention. Robin came to the conclusion that nothing could actually be lost by going to meet her. It could be the highlight of her week, if she could call it that.

So that's why she found herself entering the library right after the conclusion of lunch. Though she spent the majority of her time here, the library still impressed her with its vast collection. Several floors were connected with winding stairs and shelves covered the cavernous expanse of the walls as far up and out as the eye could see. Dark, ruddy mosaics casted dramatic and rustic light about the stairs and corridors of the main collection. Farther up, embers of floating lights and lit candles tried to fight the suffocation of the shadows.

Familiar with the floorplan of the library, Robin took the stairs down to her immediate left, figuring that she would be meeting Tharja in one of the lesser study halls a couple floors down.

A left, a left, then another and then another, was it?

The instructions were simple enough. Robin passed by rows and rows of packed study rooms, most of the windows completely out of commission from having been blown out by a spell gone wrong. Many edges of the stone doorways and frames were blackened to a crisp, painted by foolish mistakes. Nonetheless, luxury furniture and carpets were brought in regularly as needed to keep the livelihood of the space.

The second left descended another staircase to a more reclusive section of tomes and manuscripts. The illumination of the level was considerably more poor. Hefty stone and rich tapestries absorbed what little torchlight there was.  
Robin walked over to the wall of the hallway, directing her attention to one of the candles attached to the wall. She waved a hand over it, and picked the flame off the candle, holding it in her hand. The flames drank in Robin's magical energy as she held out the ball of fire into the darkness ahead.

After a few minutes, the third left opened up into another hall with three different rooms on either side of her, dim and dark as could be. There was a cleaning closet, a storage room for old furniture, and another room that was too littered with cobwebs for anyone to care about what was in there. There was no Tharja to be seen and no more lefts to be taken.

“This can’t be right,” Robin murmured after a more intensive search of the rooms.

As she spoke, a click and the grinding of stone grating against stone resonated everywhere. When she drew her eyes to the farthest wall, a passage had revealed itself and parted in two different directions. 

A keyword?

Very funny. 

She wondered if Tharja expected her to crack this little puzzle so quickly.

It was safe to bet the leftmost direction in the split was where she needed to be. 

She descended yet another staircase. This time, she could tell that the wall drapes and the stonework were much more ancient than the other corridors she had familiarized herself with. 

The drapes were embroidered in the finest threads and of the finest craftsmanship originally. She recognized some of the symbols and motifs belonging to houses of Plegia that were dissolved in a war hundreds of years ago.

This was an untouched passageway, perhaps forgotten by time itself. Until now, that is. 

How long had Tharja known this was here?

Robin stepped down the last slab of the stairs, raising her flame to the room and immediately catching eye of a blank bookshelf with spiders and useless tomes dotting it. Past it, however, a purple and unearthly glow slithered about in the darkness.

The fire pooling and swirling above her palm flickered and hissed into a larger mass before it burnt out. A trap? If that was the case, then she must have seemed like quite the fool to have come this far. She should have turned and left the moment she suspected that something was amiss, yet... there was something alluring about this place. Curiosity seized the parts of her mind that reasoned against her actions, and so she pressed forward.

Glowing runes burned into the cobblestone, a remnant of something sizzling in the middle. An ungodly mist hovered around the middle of the spell and the stink of death assaulted Robin’s senses. Tharja was watching the center display with glossy eyes, her whole face lit up by the unnatural light of the magic. She didn’t look up to acknowledge Robin. 

The spell faded and the blackened heap at the center of the circle dissipated when Tharja lifted a hand and scattered the ash with a gust of summoned wind. The mess went everywhere and she stood slowly, as though her shoulders were too heavy. She stumbled and straightened up, panting through her nose, her attention focused forward on a memory that was long gone. 

“You missed the best part... did you know rabbits can _scream_?”

Robin was trying to make sense of the scene that was before her. She couldn’t determine what those runes were. She didn’t even know of any magic that reeked of death, or what sort of spell caused the suffering and annihilation of animals. 

"What is going on here?" she asked incredulously, resisting the urge to press a sleeve to her nose to block the stench.

Tharja grinned languidly, seemingly amused at her recoiling display, like she was proud to appear as a disgusting monster. “It used to be considered a sacrilegious ceremony... it involves defiling one of Naga’s creations for the amusement and favor of Grima. A Grimleal blessing, if you will…” she said boredly, gauging her reaction closely.

“A Grimleal blessing,” Robin echoed, approaching. She was too engulfed in this unfamiliar magic, those key words signifying to her that this could only be one thing. 

One impossible thing. 

“You’re practicing dark magic.” Robin could hardly belief the own words leaving her mouth, not imaging that that would be a phrase that she would ever utter in her lifetime. “But... how? This is an ancient magic that was destroyed centuries ago after Grima was eradicated from this world…”

Tharja replied with a casual shrug. Her words hardly seemed to scathe the other. “Not all of its remnants were found and destroyed. It’s like a parasite the way it lives on. Astounding, don’t you think?” she inquired loosely, her violet eyes unblinking as she rounded around the awed student. "You seem intrigued... shall I show you more? I thought you would enjoy it. Am I right to assume this much of you?"

Robin summoned up a neutral expression to meet Tharja's eyes, knowing that deep down excitement was brewing, a dangerous breed that she had never felt before. It was something _new_ and presumed gone, yet it was here, ready for her to consume...

She had so many more questions as to how or why Tharja held this knowledge, but ultimately Robin realized that she could care less about those mundane details. She just wanted to know about this sorcery that she only dreamed or read about. Any inquiries past that seemed pointless. 

"You have my attention... but the consequences of this. They're insurmountable..." If they were caught, it would be a death sentence. Not before they were made a public skeptical of, tortured to tell of everything they knew, the evidence of their schemes going up in flames with them...

Tharja rolled her eyes and came to round Robin in a full, contemplative circle. She stopped before her, a mischievous smile curling at her lips. "What's wrong with a little bit of fun? With living on edge?" she sauntered close as she let her inquiries hang in the air. Her willowy fingers came up to play with Robin's golden, undecorated uniform braids—a signifier of a mere adept in rank. 

Tharja's eyes greedily dropped down, her tongue gliding over her lips. "Consequences be damned. You thirst—no, _beg_ for a challenge, don't you? What I have to offer for you is more knowledge and power than we'll know what to do with. Harness this magic with me and we'll make this art our unbridled passion." Her voice dripped with venom. Tantalizing, sweet venom.

Robin willed her heartbeat to slow, breathing in and out of her nose evenly as her eyes remained on Tharja's, just a barely level with her own. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, one that Robin would regret declining, despite all of its risks. A quick gust of air left her lips, a small, wry smile accompanying it. "Did you consider far enough ahead for if I were to decline?"

Three gusts of lackluster laughter sounded from Tharja. Her gaze raised to meet the other's. "I know you won't."

"Nothing is stopping me from reporting you and saving myself from involvement in your crimes," Robin now mentioned, breaking eye contact and going to peruse the scene in a loose circle. "You leave me no choice but to heavily consider the most logical outcome, one that guarantees my well-being will remain intact. I practically have a spot reserved for me in Plegia's elite battle mage unit and I risk forfeiting that by assuming a life of practicing forbidden magic in the shadows. Is my choice such a simple one to make?"

"As much as I adore being threatened by you,—who has a future at this school and is much more powerful than myself, and I mean both of those things earnestly, as I have gathered these opinions for myself—I know you're not one for simple exams and petty writing assignments detailing what we'll call one plus one equals two," Tharja’s voice came confidently. "But your choice isn't simple. In fact, it could very much ruin you in the way you believe. But if I had known you to want to take the easy route to graduation and die as another wasted smear that once had potential on the battlefield, as I have observed closely that this is your intention, then you wouldn't be standing here." 

Robin could feel those eyes burning into her back.

Robin continued around the area, completing her once around with no rush in her step. She brought her gaze to Tharja, the edges of her lips creeping up. "I only wish to familiarize myself with the thought process of who I'll be working with. If you were just a random, troublesome nobody who got ahold of ancient tomes without considering the repercussions, then you would be wasting your time with trying to get me involved."

Tharja's eyes widened and her shoulders tensed in surprise. She began to beam in excitement. "What? What do you think? I haven't proven anything to you, I understand—but I can show you much more, so much more," she returned quickly.

"I think I'm a pretty good judge of someone’s ability. And you seem to have quite the potential, Tharja." Robin continued, now taking her own round of the other student. "I don't know how you got ahold of dark magic, but the fact that you can perform it without prior instruction already speaks volumes of your capabilities." 

Robin stopped, wrenching forth a content smile. "So, where do we begin?"

* * *

The first books practically read themselves.

Basics, basics, basics. 

The essence of dark magic came from the power of misery and fear, first and foremost. There required a component of true intention to inflict harm upon someone—that someone sometimes being the caster of the spell. The potential of the magic thrived out of this cycle of fear, embodiment, negativity, sin. Pure, unadulterated, raw emotion best served it. It was different than tapping into a pool of honed and nurtured power and harnessing it into pure energy. 

Dark magic needed a source of natural power—nothing unusual, since most magic users needed the innate ability to use magic from their bloodline—but the direction it was meant to be taken was completely and utterly unreliable. It could be incredibly powerful, however. Whereas the components of a standard spell required years of physical and mental training, dark magic drew its power from emotion, sharpening even the fear of the caster towards death as a weapon of unrelenting force.

Another rabbit was brought in as a test subject to put the theories to practice.

The ritual was simple. It was meant to familiarize the performer with the existence of the dark forces that swirled around every living thing, unveiling volatile emotions of the target and using them to mutilate itself with sharpened daggers of magical force. The glowing runes carved into the floor helped to amplify Robin’s pathetic, weak reigns of the magic. She had complete control within the circle to manipulate the energies inside of them however she saw fit. 

Tharja looked on anxiously, pacing and biting her nails as Robin began the havoc.

Robin’s fingertips danced with the wisps and energies, her entire concentration on the small animal before her. The theory was catalogued into her mind, that alone being all that she needed in order to give it her best attempt.

Negative emotions weren't something that she experienced with ease or in plentiful amounts, but creating and harnessing the greedy desire to become more powerful was a sufficient starting point. She wanted to get this so bad that it hurt. Perhaps that was a natural side effect of the magic.

The creature shrieked at the unholy light beneath. It made a desperate attempt to escape the circle with a frenzied sense of urgency. The edges of the runes engulfed the rodent, charges of deep purple lightning shocking it back into the grounds of the circle. 

Tharja stopped and stared, grinning behind a tightly balled fist she had pressed to her lips. 

A column of velvety mist rose from the runes at Robin's will and the very thrill of the control fueled the vigor and writhing of the smoke. The rabbit sat dumbly, its heart visibly pounding and its chest heaving. 

Robin manipulated the mist like a serpent readying a deadly strike. The vapor lashed forward and enveloped the rabbit, stunning it with the force. Fear and confusion suddenly erupted underneath her fingertips. She could immediately utilize the newly shed emotion to amplify the suffocating force that she had applied to the creature.

It was simply exhilarating. No other magic could even begin to compare to what it felt like to have this at her disposal. The threads of energy fed feelings of euphoric bliss into her very being with every single, tug, whip, and bite. Her heart swelled in an excitement she could barely contain, too focused to realize that she was smiling. Too focused to hear the hideous cries of the animal.

It was painstakingly addicting. It was no wonder that there were so many followers of dark magic in the past. Suffering brought pleasure to the caster as they absorbed the energies of the target. That fundamental equation fueled a vicious cycle of desire to take advantage of the victim. If she could frighten it or hurt it just a little more, surely the yield would be better...

Alas, a final screech and a snap. It knocked Robin completely out of her zone as she saw the rabbit fall limp. Any indulgences that she had before was starting to slip away. Her smile faded, and the purple mists loosened and dissipated, releasing the animal. Robin stared amazedly at the scene before her, slowly coming to stand straighter. 

Was that supposed to happen? She couldn't recall herself making an error that would have ruined the ritual. The runes on the ground remained bright and glowering, as if fed fat by the energies she had conjured. She looked to Tharja, trying to imagine what that scene must have looked like from her position.

Tharja's eyes were wide with an unabashed amazement. Blood trickled from her mouth and wrist as she bit into her knuckles. 

Her hands dropped from her mouth and her tongue darted out of her crooked smile the swipe up a meager hint of the blood down her chin. 

"Beautiful... isn't it absolutely beautiful?" Tharja’s low voice trembled as she walked forward. The runes hissed as she stepped into the circle and her eyes fluttered as the velvety purple mist collected at her fingertips and swerved around her hands. She stepped over the body of the rabbit and cleared the other half of the circle and stopped before Robin, meeting her eyes knowingly. 

"Just like a true Grimleal sorceress..."

Robin swallowed, looking back down towards the circle. She wouldn't deny the fact that it felt good to use that magic. More so than any other incantation or spell that she had cast before. Fire, wind, lightning... no other magical practice affected her as much as that just did. A direct result of dark magic was imbuing the very caster with sadistic rewards, pulling one back into the fray to use. And what's to say that a larger animal wouldn't yield better results? A pig? Goat? Horse?

...A human?

Yes, Robin could definitely see the appeal. If Tharja's words weren't just flattery, then maybe she was on the road towards something greater. Yet...

A part of her was drawn towards it, yet the logical side of her told her to stay away. There was no doubt that what she had performed was evil and cruel and Robin was neither an evil nor cruel person. It gave a wild spin to her moral compass, putting her amidst uncertainty of where to move from there. The magic remained largely untamed, as well, and who's to say what the dangers actually were? Was there a price that she had unknowingly paid in exchange for performing this spell?

Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, she found that her hands were shaking and an imposing feeling of dread loomed over her. She needed air—she needed to be free of this place. Unreasonable anxieties were clouding her judgement. Was this also a side effect of the magic?

"I'm sorry, but I must be going," Robin confessed, her voice sounding slightly strained. She attempted a straight face to seem as if nothing had plagued her, but her yet trembling hands betrayed her. Without another thought, she made towards the ascending stairs, hugging herself as if to keep together.

Tharja was left staring after the retreating girl as the magic from the runes dimmed and succumbed to the dark of the corridor.

* * *

Class continued on and Robin couldn't find herself to be mentally present at the lessons. Images of the day before the last and what had happened deep in that library haunted her. The taste of that unforgettable magical high cooed to her every waking thought and called her back to those runes, begging for use after centuries of neglect. 

Robin was usually the last to leave class to stimulate some sort of meaningless conversation with the professor to show how much of an excelling, careful, and excited student she was. However, when the bells of the school clock sung out the hour all throughout campus, she darted out of her seat and headed to the door and out into the still-empty hallway. 

Robin went to her book hovel to collect her things and head home when she noticed Tharja leaning next to her belongings. She probably hadn’t even gone to class. 

"Greetings..." Tharja began, her bandaged fingers nervously wringing through each other as she confronted her with her nervous violet eyes downcast. 

This seemed like an entirely different Tharja.

Robin was anticipating this interaction however, wondering what sort of thing her raven-haired peer would say to her now. There were more than a few things up in the air, seeming as she made quite a scene of bailing from their last encounter together.

Robin noticed the bandages wrapped around Tharja’s hands. An odd habit, biting one’s knuckles. "Yes?" she asked evenly, returning her attention to her locker.

"I figured I should... apologize—" Tharja spat out the word before continuing. "—about last time. It was a necessary thing you did. I understand if you never want to do it again. But I hadn't even shown you the interesting parts of the practice. I'd still like to continue with you. If anything, that was the ugliest part about this magic, but from here on out, the curve smoothens out. I feel like practicing this at all is pointless if you don't have someone to share it with. So please consider it."

Robin studied her for a long moment, thinking back to the ritual. She could believe that to be some of the uglier things that came out of the practice. She didn't reply for a long moment, retracting a leather-bound book from her storage unit and replacing it with another. "There's more to it than... whatever that was?" she asked, making it sound more like a statement than an inquiry.

Tharja shifted uncomfortably where she stood. "Yes. There is more serious combat dark magic that focuses on the utilization of that very technique meant to—" 

Tharja paused as a group of serious-looking boys passed by. Her eyes watched them without blinking before she turned back to Robin. 

"It's meant to kill the target horribly but efficiently. I couldn't tell you much more in detail. I haven't looked at it in depth, but I have access to tomes and tomes of other lost secrets. It's ancient magic so it's nothing to play with, and I mean it in a very respected sense of the word when I say there are quite a bit of toys in the scriptures I've come across that you should continue to look at with me."

Robin's eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. Without looking, she closed her unit, turning more fully towards the other student. "Answer something for me." Her voice was lower than before, lined with edging suspicion.

Tharja wrung her hands nervously together and her jaw tightened. "I'm listening."

Robin’s head titled slightly to the side, as if the new angle would show her the answer she sought. "Who are you exactly...?"

The raven-haired girl seemed taken slightly aback by the question. She quitted her nervous fidgeting and tilted her head in turn. "I'm just a lazy student who gets into too much trouble... but somehow I doubt that answers your question."

"You're right." Robin bit at her lower lip for a moment before rephrasing her question differently. Tactfully. "You knew to approach me and no one else. You have access to these... things." A few students passed by and Robin allowed them to pass before continuing in a lower voice. "Powerful, dangerous things. You know how to use it, as well. It certainly leaves one questioning."

Tharja's cold violet eyes dropped and inspected her from head to toe searchingly. "I have a talent for picking and choosing my allegiances that best suits my needs," she started slowly and crossed her arms across her chest. "I don't want recognition. I don't want friendship. I want sport and I want someone who I know can take it. Someone who knows how to handle getting their hands dirty and is smart enough to realize that giving me away is giving them away. Is it so curious that you're a perfect candidate?”

It seemed like Robin’s reputation preceded her far more than she expected to actually have someone actively seeking her out for this purpose. If she were to think honestly about it, the thought of Tharja selecting someone else other than her for this task was absolutely unbearable. It was quite self-absorbent of her to think like that, but she always felt like she was destined for something higher than the mediocrity that she trudged through on a daily basis. Maybe this was it. 

Tharja turned away and shot a glance over her shoulder to the other adept. "I’m not here to graduate and die for my nation. I did come here for someone like you and I got you, didn't I? Or do I seem like I'm too much work? Too much trouble?"

Robin huffed in amusement, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “That’s yet to be seen. And if I’m going to be honest, I probably would have eventually ventured off to find it myself." 

"Perhaps you could have," Tharja scoffed. "I don't doubt your abilities."

"Anyway, you do sound like someone who could use a friend. I imagine this field could get quite lonesome, since you are easily able to count its practitioners on one hand." Robin was able to relax easier, now. 

"Careful... I recall mentioning something along the lines of 'I'm not looking for friendship' that I am aiming to preserve. I just want the thrill..." Tharja flushed and looked away. "Though if it's with someone as amazingly talented as you are, I could reconsider."

"I don't think this will work the way you intend it to," Robin said with amusement. "You can try as you like to make this as impersonal as possible, but you must understand that at this point that's going to be quite challenging."

"Maybe I like challenges." Tharja glared over her shoulder, grinning as she pivoted on her heels to face the other adept. "Anyway. Meet me at the library, then? Same place, ten minutes after the last bell of the day?"

Robin nodded once, remaining where she was. "Of course."

Tharja beamed before looking about and diminishing her excitement at the flick of a switch. She nodded and then ran towards the opposite direction, her cloak bellowing behind her.

* * *

"Hexing?"

Robin eyed over the texts before her, fingers gliding over aged pages. The language was remotely Plegian, as were the first books in the dark magic series containing the basics she read had before. The course of time made the common tongue more widely used in their country, putting the percentage of those who spoke Plegian in the single digits range. Robin could count herself as one of the more fluent ones on that spectrum, though she was hardly ever able to verbally practice. Her skills were consequently used primarily for reading older Plegian texts covering things from dated war tactics to history books written in the courts of past rulers. 

However, it seemed like an even earlier form of the language, compared to the first few books Tharja had helped her delve into. Strange characters and symbols that she couldn't precisely place frequented the paragraphs, making her believe that it was a distant cousin from the modern Plegian in which she was accustomed. 

"Hexing," Tharja nodded as she fingered through the rough parchment of the tome she was examining. "They’re similar to curses. However, hexes involve rituals, glyphs, and components to perform a desired function on someone. Depending on the complexity, a hex can last for the rest of the victim's life until dispelled. Hexes can be as little as dooming someone with a runny nose forever no matter what concoctions they take to control it to making someone bleed out of every orifice of their body if they so much as tell a lie."

There was a pause and Tharja looked up from her book towards Robin. "... It's all written in the first paragraph there. I've spent months going through it and deciphering it the best I could. I figured that taking my notes to memory rather than writing them down was safer. Perhaps once I show you the basics, we can explore the configurations of more complicated hexes."

Robin nodded along, not having taken her eyes off of the book just yet. She was yet picking up bits and pieces of the passage, eager to scratch the surface of what she was to study. "Lead on, then." 

The thump of the thick tome Tharja had resonated off of the stone walls as she slammed it closed. 

She came to lean over Robin, her long raven hair falling over her shoulder as she planted a hand on the table. "The Plegian here is ancient. If this dark magic still existed as a modern art, it wouldn't have changed much from the passages you see now. I've come to believe that the source of power from all these tomes is due to the fact that the original mortal practitioners who devoted themselves to Grima wrote these books themselves, instilling the true words of their God’s magic firsthand. The original copies are long gone, I'm sure, but it's believed that from just holding those first powerful copies, you could hear the voice of the Fell Dragon always at your back..."

It sounded more like something a mother told to her children to keep them buried in their covers at night. "You don't...?" Robin started. The implications of the beginning of her inquiry suggested doubt about the latter part. It shouldn't be possible...

Tharja's cold eyes dropped to her own. She tilted her head and tapped on the table once. "... I don’t what?"

“You don't practice the religion of Grima," Robin stated, knowing that the accusation in its own was silly. They wiped out its practitioners along with all of the texts, but it seemed that even things that were supposed to be gone still had their ways of returning. "We're just practicing old, forbidden magic and nothing more?"

At that, the other adept froze with her lips parted. It was difficult to read her mask, even through this brief crack of her demeanor. Tharja looked away and back down towards the tome before them. "Of course I don't practice it... it's potent to even assume that of someone. I get my facts from these dusty old books. Nothing more or less."

"I apologize if I offended you," Robin said smoothly, eyes returning to the passages. That was all she needed for reassurance. "And you know enough about this scripture to teach me a few things about deciphering it?"

Tharja hummed and went to sit on the arm of the chair that Robin was settled in. "A few things... ask away and I will do my best explaining."

Robin’s immediate itching questions arose, tackling some of the largest barriers to her comprehension. She brought up places for confirmation on words and passages that she had the most educated guesses for.

For the most part, ancient Plegian had stricter grammar structures that she caught onto quickly. 

Robin was moving through passages relatively well. 

Some words seemed completely foreign to her. The roots of the new vocabulary when combined made little to no sense, but Tharja offered plausible interpretations to help them along. 

Robin was able to give possible translations for some words Tharja was unsure of, as well. It all became very mutual. 

"How long have you studied Plegian for?" Tharja inquired, obviously impressed.

"Since I was a child," she answered easily, her eyes still on the words before her. "When you are surrounded by old books at a young age with not much else to do, you learn. I had the help of instructive texts, though."

"That doesn't surprise me. You're incredibly bright. No amount of sucking up to a teacher within this system could help account for what you're actually capable of," Tharja mused genuinely.

Robin was unsure of how to measure Tharja’s increasing amount of unnecessarily flattering comments about her. 

Tharja cleared her throat. “Anyway, why don't we get to practicing some of this in the flesh? How about it?"

Now that drew Robin’s attention away from the pages. "Where do you plan on starting, then?"

"Page 191... only if you want, of course."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as a warning: this chapter contains a masturbation scene.

With a plume of feathery smoke, the magic burned out into the dimly lit room. The ingredients were fried to a crisp and the runes were exhausted to mundane marks. 

Robin and Tharja looked to each other in mischievous satisfaction. 

That following day, they watched with amusement as an entire murder of crows came into the castle halls and began to torment a single girl, her things scattering everywhere as she collapsed onto the floor helplessly. The birds relentlessly assaulted her, even as other students and a professor came forth and swatted and blew them away until she was pulled to safety. Crows scattered in confusion throughout the school. The girl was shaken but hardly hurt, save for a pair of scuffed knees and a couple scratches. 

Laughter and amazement filled the students who had witnessed the event. It was the talk of the school how the girl who was infamous for cutting her way to the front of the mess hall line at its busiest hours got attacked by a bunch of birds. It was seen as long-awaited karmic destiny. 

Robin and Tharja went back to the hexing table so fast that day after the last bell had rang, giddy as they realized their magic had worked. It worked and everyone saw it. No one could possibly gather how such a strange phenomena was possible—for unexplained occurrences in a world of magic were rare.

A snooty boy that competed for the top spots in their year Tharja hated in particular had suddenly started cracking in his cruel, know-it-all exterior and became vulnerable to crying fits during intellectual discussions in class and during sparring.

Everything was all the more rare and hilarious when the strict and articulate Enchantments professor started tripping over her own lectures and finding herself talking about her childhood in random, uncontrolled spurts.

It was even more intriguing when the fitness coaches suddenly couldn’t run and lift just as much as the previous day, their strength deteriorating to fear of being unable to lift even a quill to take attendance for the day.

These occurrences began to increase, strange and unpredictable. 

The school atmosphere was a lit with excited curiosity the more frequent these strange happenings began. Prestigious instructors being dragged out of class by the head director was undoubtedly the talk of the school, as well as the students who had fallen prone to silly outbursts of emotion or adopted weird habits that were uncharacteristic to their normal selves.

All of this spread out over the course of a month. The behaviors showed up and disappeared as quickly as the new patterns had shown themselves. 

Was it the season change? What could have possibly explained such events? Magic was the easy answer. But it also wasn’t an answer at all.

“These fools wouldn’t know I was carrying around a Grimleal tome even if I recited it in front of an entire seminar,” Tharja said flatly. 

Robin paced the courtyard, her nose buried in a small notebook of rare plants she had dribbled down upon skimming a book of botany. “Keep your voice down,” she said distractedly as she turned sharply and paced the other direction, carving a line into the grass underfoot.

Tharja huffed and sunk lower onto her elbows and shoulders, her legs crossing the other way as she tried to get comfortable on the stone fountain bench she laid across. “I’m not stupid. Compared to you, maybe, but I know when to hold my tongue."

“I’ve stopped trying to avoid you at the cost of some of my reputation. You could at least reward me the privilege of some peace and quiet every once and awhile.” Robin sighed.

“Oh, the sacrifices we make,” Tharja mused lowly with a sarcastic grin. “I’ve managed to move my way up the ranks due to some of our favorite peers plummeting academically. Surely, being around me isn’t that horrid for your respectability.”

“You just admitted that your rise is due to the failure of others. You didn’t work for your position.”

“I’m just taking advantage of the situation,” Tharja said as she rolled onto her stomach, her cloak wrapping around her a bit. She bent her knees and kicked her legs, her golden high heels swaying back and forth. “Plus, I’ve put in at least two hundred percent more effort since I’ve gotten here and started working with you.”

“Zero times anything is still zero,” Robin murmured, still not entirely present in the conversation.

Tharja sighed wistfully. “What does it matter? I’m not graduating from here, anyway.”

Robin mentally paused. Her boots kept moving. “What’s in your way of graduating? Aside from the fact that we spend most nights and breaks in the library practicing the most forbidden form of magic known to our world.”

“Nothing’s in my way. I just don’t want to.” Tharja replied.

“How honest,” Robin said.

“You have no idea.”

Robin stopped, eyes still drawn to her notebook. Something didn’t settle right with her at that response. The inflection didn’t feel playful like all of her other words. When she looked over to Tharja, she was staring ahead into nothing, unperturbed.

* * *

“There was a girl who tried to bully me because she didn’t like my haircut. Do you think I can make her eyes slough out of her head when she tries to speak to me again?”

Robin knew that it was a joke, but there was a very real threat laced somewhere deep into Tharja’s inquiry. “She _tried_ to bully you?” That sounded very concerning.

“I told her that hating my haircut wasn’t going to make her family come back to life and she started crying. It was the truth.” Tharja shrugged.

Robin relaxed and sorted through the newest Grimleal tome Tharja had brought her, looking for nothing in particular. It was hard, however, with Tharja laying across the oaken table where their papers and books were scattered like it was something normal to lounge upon. Robin lifted up part of Thara’s cloak that was covering her notebook she thought she had misplaced elsewhere. “Who is really brave enough to bully you? Yes, you’re wildly unpopular but also _so_ …” Creepy. Menacing. Unfriendly. “... unsettling.”

“I prefer ‘brooding’... but Gods know. It’s a pathetic existence, playing mage for an army of a defeated nation. There are numerous voids to be filled. Plus, you’re not exactly the most inviting person, either.”

Robin sighed. “Why is that? Along the way, I thought I made some genuine friends but it turns out they were using me for my notes.”

“Really? You don’t know why?” Tharja turned, her eyes lit with mild surprise. “You’re intimidatingly smart to the point where when you interact with someone, it’s like you’re talking down to them. It wears them down and then they think you hate them.”

Robin paused in her scanning to plant her elbow on the table and lean onto her palm in defeat. “I was never really good at talking to people. I got very good at reading them but in the end I just ended up chasing them off no matter what I did.”

Tharja chuckled dryly and sat up. “Why worry about it? People are fickle and don’t know what they want. That’s so much trouble to deal with.”

“Sounds like a lonely existence.”

Tharja paused, her gaze coming down to the book that Robin had ignored for the time being. She scooted over, leaning down onto her forearms. “What’re you looking at?”

The topic change was obvious but Robin didn’t want to pry. She brought her dark brown eyes back to the text, the worn pages written in a sinister spidery ink. She read aloud the Plegian title of the section casually. “ _Nos… feratu? The Vampiric Siphon Spell._ ” Intrigued, she straightened up a bit, falling quiet as she translated more into the page. Tharja came closer in interest, trying to angle herself so that she wasn’t completely upside down from the print.

_Tendrils of thy hatred sucketh out the soulful essence of thine enemy, leaving bitter bones and congealed blackness slithering through their scorching veins. Augment thou spite and pulleth their life from the crushéd throat of thine vessel. Snuffeth the life and draw out any reminiscence of memory lifeblood into a mass of raw energy. Drinketh the—_

Robin snapped the book shut, a sickly sense of dread filling her heart, chilling her blood with each pump. The damned flavor texts did get worse the deeper into the books she got. She swallowed. This territory was off-limits. Robin cleared her throat and pushed the book away. “That’s… that doesn’t look like something that we should be looking at.”

Tharja met her gaze, even and undisturbed. “Why?” She asked like it was such a simple question.

Robin pushed out her chair and stood, collecting herself gradually. “Because we’re students practicing this magic for fun. If it’s sinful to look at these pages and dare to repeat them between the two of us let alone cast silly hexes on half the school, then it is beyond unforgivable to practice spells that kill people in such a manner.”

Robin forced these words. She fought the ebbing hunger for the control of that magic, the desire to twist those tendrils that writhed with the wrathful essence of the kind of person that she knew she was not. The kind of person that was fueled by that sort of torture. The kind of person that was weak to temptation. Weak to the ecstasy of that blissful high. Weak to the torrential power and utter submission of the subject. Weak to this magic that had the power to force kings to bend the knee and succumb in the midst of bloody, horrid wars of religion and conquest.

Robin shivered and ran a hand through her platinum blonde bangs. She mentally cursed her shaking hands and the pit of longing that lodged itself deep within her. How she longed for that control. Longed for power that she was sure was an inch away from feeling like a god. The attraction to this magic and it’s sinfully destructive ways was dangerous enough. 

“And killing someone with a bolt of lightning isn’t unforgivable?” Tharja asked after a beat, coming to sit on the edge of the table.

Robin scoffed. Did she really have to explain this? “I didn’t decide what is moral and immoral, our ancestors did.”

At Tharja’s unconvinced demeanor, Robin turned and stepped close, her eyes serious as they challengingly raised to meet the other adept’s. “We live in a time where it is alright to kill with the sword, with the axe, with fire. We kill for a _purpose_ and we learn to do it swiftly for that purpose. This magic is sadistic. This magic is _cruel_ and there is no good reason for it to be. That’s the reason why they don’t teach this—else the whole damn nation spirals out of control to some heinous, crime-ridden population that’s only concern is killing for the sake of fun and pleasure.”

Tharja’s eyes darkened to their usual unreadable look, the corner of her mouth twitching as Robin continued in a low voice, enunciating clearly as the get her point across, even as a threat, if need be. “ _That_ … is why _this_ is banned and killing someone with lightning, wind, and fire is not. If you choosing to stand by me in this endeavor means anything to you, you’ll do the most logical thing now—which is to _listen_ to me when I say we cannot practice those spells.”

A stagnant pause settled between them as they held each other’s eyes. Tharja’s jaw tightened, the sound of nails digging into wood causing Robin’s gaze to flick down to Tharja’s hands. The knuckles on her fingers were white as she forced them into the edge of the table as far as they would go. Her knees were pressed together tightly, the tremble of the force in which she kept them together painfully obvious.

Robin backed away, her mind going blank as she tried to decipher the other adept’s strange body language. What was with this reaction? Her cheeks began to burn. “I-Is there something you’d like to say?”

“No,” Tharja breathed a bit too quickly.

Robin turned away, flustered. She was not interested in prying into the obvious lie. Her message had gotten across, for all she cared. “Then we don’t speak of this again.”

And they didn’t. Whenever the books came open and those pages happened to fall open and visit their studies, they wordlessly skipped them. It was hard for Robin to so casually press the pages closed. She would, at times, notice the linger of Tharja’s eyes onto something she shouldn’t whenever she was busy with her own lessons. Robin suspected she had a longing of her own that she was battling. She didn’t know if Tharja was the kind of person to give in to that longing. 

Robin didn’t know much about Tharja at all, in fact. Her mannerisms suggested some sort of anxious tension beneath her usually even and emotionless facade. She bit her lips. She bit her knuckles and her nails. Her knee bounced up and down when she sat and she seemed uncomfortable in her own skin the way she hugged herself sometimes. She preferred to sit cross-legged on the cold stone floor reading in less than adequate light. She hardly ever sat up straight.

Sometimes, when Tharja was reading, there was no pulling her out of the spell of enthrallment that the text held her by. She even failed to notice the dinner hours tick by when this happened. Robin wondered if she even slept when she left Tharja alone for the night to retire to her dorm.

Tharja rarely went to her classes. She talked illy of every single person she knew but Robin. She hardly went outside except for when Robin was in the courtyard or when Robin went into town to run some errands. Tharja followed her almost everywhere and disappeared without saying anything.

Then Tharja would sit around. Bored as could be, veiling idle threats to people she hated aloud. Tharja would talk about the latest and most benign gossip that Robin was convinced that even she herself didn’t care about. She would lounge and trace patterns in the floor. She would slowly destroy whatever useless object she happened to have to busy her hands—ranging from paper to stolen trinkets. Sometimes, she practiced forming dark spheres and shooting them at improvised targets. Or she would form a mini miasma of velvety smoke and manipulate it into various unrecognizable shapes.

Then she’d stare. She’d stare pointedly at Robin, memorizing the way she wrote or read or breathed. Or at least Robin assumed she was trying to commit her performance of the most basic tasks to memory, since there was very little reason to find interest in her otherwise. Watching her was surely mind-numbingly boring, but when Robin would find Tharja’s eyes questioningly, she always seemed entertained. In those moments, Tharja fell the most quiet and still Robin had yet to see of her in any other context. Her violet eyes were almost always distant while a thin smile curled her lips. It was curious. The staring stopped making Robin uncomfortable somewhere along the way. It just became what Tharja did.

They practiced other magics, as well. Robin believed in being well-rounded and didn’t want to neglect her other studies. She did still like to conjure fire, lightning, and cutting wind. Sometimes she didn’t do anything school-related or having to do with dark magic when she went down into the library. Robin would even bring dinner sometimes. Tharja was horrible at remembering to eat, for the most part. Tharja liked to blame the fact that the mess hall was full of disgusting people that she couldn’t be bothered to try and weave through. Robin wondered how such a small girl could be so much trouble.

* * *

A heavy tenseness blighted the school. Every single student and faculty member were seated in the main hall as a mandatory assembly commenced. All eight hundred and eleven attending student names were taken in a tedious role call. Anyone who failed to be in attendance were taken note of or excused by a faculty member or the school infirmary director. 

The chatter in the room never rose above a whisper. It was a constant, strained drone of noise that hushed when a group of several figures with white shoulder length capes and armor pieces entered from the front, accompanied by one powerful-looking woman that stepped ahead and left the rest behind. She climbed the stairs of the platform and strutted across the stage with strong, commanding strides. Each accent of her heels stabbed into the silence, forcing a flinch of the eyes with her every step. When she turned in front of the lone podium, her dark cloak billowed behind her, the embroidering across her collar and the lining shining a fantastic gold amidst the garnishes of royal purple. Her eyes gravely scrolled the venue, the stillness of the room solidifying, her guards turning towards the audience as they assumed a parade rest. There was one person at the side that didn’t fall into the formation. They stood with their hands crossed in front of them, the hood of their white robe obscuring their facial features. They were noticeably smaller than the others of the accompaniment. 

“Initiates, Adepts, Neophytes, Practitioners, High-Mages and administration,” the figure spoke, strikingly formal. Her voice echoed off the architecture of the hall.

Robin looked up to the academy director, Magister Verona. Though her breath was calm, her heart pounded wildly in her chest. She knew exactly of what was about to happen and forced a sense of casualness into her posture. The director’s public appearances were few—for running a school of magicians and serving as the Magister of the Plegian Council kept her very busy. 

“It has come to my attention that there is a disturbance unlike most we have seen amongst our student body and faculty. In fact, it has been _hundreds_ of years since there has been trouble of this caliber at _my_ academy. In my _country_ , as a matter of fact.”

They were terribly slow in catching on, Robin thought. It had been two months since her and Tharja started casting hexes.

“It isn’t often taught as more than a footnote, but let me present to you a brief lecture on the history of our nation.” The director stepped away from the podium, capturing the attention of every person in the room seamlessly as her hands folded behind her back, her uniform braids and badges shining menacingly on her breast.

Robin knew the whole ordeal, already. She spoke of the Schism, the unexplained event of the creation of their world. Then there was the development of mankind thousands and thousands of years ago. Then, the contact of the Holy and Fell Dragons, Naga and Grima, resulting in the gift of magic that sparked off of their warring paths, beckoning the weak and power-hungry enigma of humankind to step onto those paths and adopt their strife. The development of two whole nations of like-minded countries formed over hundreds of years of skirmishes on their continent. From the profound conglomerates of the established territories, the bountiful and ever-green nation of Ylisse and the barren, baked deserts of Plegia were created. 

“Unsurmountable bloodshed along the borders of the nations wetted the earth. The blood seeped so deeply, the hostility burned into the bloodlines of those warring nations as Naga warred with Grima for all eternity. The First, Second, Third, and Fourth Wars all ended in stand-stills, both nations backed into their respective corners from having exhausted every resource they had trying to snuff out the other. With the conclusion of the Fifth War, the largest and most recent war in our recorded history, the Exalt and followers of Naga, seasoned as they were, thwarted off the thieves, mercenaries, militia, wyvern fleets, and dark mages of Plegia, putting an end to the Fell Dragon by banishing him from this world using the fabled blade of legend, the Falchion. However, the Fell Dragon was destined to return to continue his ever-churning fight with Naga, for that was how the world must be. 

“Upon looking at the broken people of Plegia, ridden with crime and disorder, thieves and killers, the Exalt made an executive decision to rid the nation of its pollution of Grima’s nature, which had warped and twisted their behaviors to that of which was barely considered human. If Grima’s followers were of naught, then the support for the Fell Dragon would collapse from underneath him upon his return, damning him to never return his influence to this world. For when the Risen came with Grima close behind, all of the world will turn on the undead army and banish the Fell Dragon as one force of power. 

“So, a purge of Grima’s dark practices occurred, a Crusade of Naga that ripped out the foundation of our world along with the Books of Grima. Thousands of years of culture and history were banished from the libraries, from the streets, from the capital. The Theocracy of Plegia was no more. Any who were caught practicing Grimleal magic or Grima’s religion under the new Ylissean occupation were persecuted and put to death until the hum of Grima’s dark forces completely disappeared from this world and intrinsically replaced with the eminent word of Naga. Or so we have continued to naively think.

“It is no easy task to destroy and entire nation that has rooted itself in one single god for thousands upon thousands of years. The cracks in which Grima’s practices have managed to slither into in order to survive are incalculable and unpredictable. Now, it has come to my attention that he survives here, at this very academy.”

An eerie silence engulfed the room. Fearful eyes found their neighbor’s fearful eyes.

“Know this. If you are caught practicing any form of dark magic as detailed in the Books of Grima, the punishment is not light. It will not be passed off as harmless curiosity, even if you are budding adults and magicians. But I educate you now to know better. If you are caught, you will be tried and hanged.”

Robin could never be caught. She could hardly contain the thrill. She just _couldn’t_ be caught. The director’s eyes only ever briefly met her own, unseeing as she addressed the crowd. She had no idea. None of them had any idea. And they were afraid. 

Robin wondered how things might have been different. How she could have been sitting in this room, cluelessly intrigued upon the fact that dark magic had found its way into the recesses of this school. The curiosity would have devoured her. She would have so badly wanted to at least peek into this magic. It would have destroyed her. 

Robin shivered as her neighbors shivered in uncertainty, but she was not afraid. She was ready for the biggest challenge in her entire life. She trembled with anticipation. With excitement. 

“You are dismissed.”

Robin stood and followed the uneasy crowd out. They were shocked silent, not daring to speak as long as the director stood on the stage, her watchful eyes still scanning the room as it emptied out into the halls. 

Robin’s shoulder brushed against another, her dark brown eyes turning to meet violet ones. 

Tharja looked back ahead and Robin stared at the small smirk on her lips. She was undeterred. Tharja headed her own way. Robin parted to her dormitory. It would be foolish to meet today. Robin slid down her room door as soon as she closed it, letting out a shaky breath she didn’t know she was holding.

The threats from the director were true. Robin was not impervious to those threats. The fact that they were so very real made this all the most dangerous. All the more risky. All the more compelling. How fulfilling it would be to dodge the director—no, the whole country and graduate into the army with her capabilities. Invisible to authority and the law yet empowered and being just that one step ahead of her entire class.

She would never be able to show her abilities. She would never be able to gloat about them or show how much she truly excelled in them. Having known this magic has survived and is still living in a world where it is a parasite in plain sight was satisfactory enough for her. She could achieve her own ridiculously high personal goals if she could one day come to master this magic.

She could hardly contain the excitement. She had found her calling. She would always be one step ahead of her rivals. She could be _invincible_.

Robin’s face was hot. She wiped her cheeks, her fingers to tracing down her neck. Over her grey pinstripe uniform vest. Down her sash.

She could do it all. 

Robin shucked down her pants. She shoved the tail of her sash behind her, the floorboards cool on her bare rump. Her back slid farther down the door as her cold fingers parted her labia and dipped down, her folds wet and slick already. A shaky sigh of excitement rolled from her lips. 

She pleasured herself, huffing against her breast as her brows knotted together in concentration. The circling of her fingers over her clit became hard and feverish to the point where it hurt. She didn't stop until her whole body stiffened and she bucked against her hand, white hot ecstasy burning at her groin and shooting throughout her entire body. She sat dazed, head lulling back and as she rode out the high, panting with a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead. 

She would become the greatest dark mage that never was.

* * *

Renewed vigor turned the pages of the Grimleal books the week following that assembly.

Robin ensured that they were careful before, picking out targets and hexes on a strict schedule that was fool-proof. The targets alone couldn’t have incriminated them. The unexplained energies and behaviors could not be traced back. But there must have been a way within the texts to follow the clues to the origin of the caster.

They tirelessly absorbed the texts in search of a fault. The week dedicated to just that was a fruitless endeavor. Robin considered every single component of the ritual that was hexing, scrutinizing the theory and the manipulation of the dark energies and the phenomena of their inner workings. Though she couldn’t decipher what she was searching for, she grew intimately closer to understanding the practice.

The next step in ensuring their safety was to simply practice magics that would solidify an escape for them in the case of a confrontation. While there was lightning, it's dark magic counterpart imbued the essence of emotion into its casting.

Robin and Tharja practiced for hours understanding the difference between the two types of lightning. Grimleal magic could be, in a pinch, incomparably more powerful. There was no problem in performing this spell to Robin. She figured that if they both of them were as desperate as to not get caught with these books, then that fear would work with them better than the packaged precision of their everyday spellcasting. It would catch their pursuers off guard and they could protect themselves long enough to get away.

These thoughts procured other possibilities of failure. What would happen in the event that they are discovered and did manage to get away? It was time to start building those precautions, as well. It would be foolish to continue in their field of study without those precautions. It would be foolish to assume they were entirely impermeable. 

Robin snuffed out the ball of crackling velvet lightning she had managed to produce with her growing insecurities. 

Tharja stared, having conjured her own purple lightning for the first time and taking interest in watching Robin meld and forge her own. Even after the dark, plasmic energy dissipated from her palms, Tharja continued to bore her gaze into her searchingly. It was different from her usual staring. 

“What?” Robin inquired softly, the feeling of exhaustion from the elongated nature of their practice wearing down on her psyche.

“Nothing,” Tharja returned, as was her usual answer when she tried to ask her the better part of anything. Robin made to turn away and pack her things when Tharja continued hesitantly. “I think you look stunning.”

Robin blinked, a faint flush burning at her cheeks. “... why?” 

“Because the glow of that magic was destined to be in your hands and it’s glorious seeing someone who was meant to have this power make it more beautiful than it already is,” Tharja returned, her eyes deflecting elsewhere as a gentle blush colored her own complexion. 

Robin was unprepared for the magnitude of the compliment. “So… is that really what you’re always thinking?”

“Yes,” Tharja murmured. “Sometimes, I think of how fate has so wonderfully brought us together. I think of how lucky I am, seeing a creature such as yourself perform these spells with matchless grace and sophistication in this time, at this place, in this lifetime.”

Utterly unsure of how to respond, Robin turned away, busying her hands with collecting her things. She swallowed past the embarrassed knot in her throat. “I think it’s time to call it here. We even skipped supper tonight, didn’t we?”

“If practicing this magic on my own was exhilarating, then seeing you progress and surpass me is my lifeblood. I live for the cold concentration in your eyes and the way everything around you becomes unimportant as you reap every seed of knowledge these books have to offer.”

Robin halted and slowly turned. Tharja was standing a lot closer to her than she remembered. Their eyes locked and Robin froze.

“You want to continue doing this and venture farther onto this path with me and nothing can make me happier,” Tharja said, her hands coming to grip onto one of Robin’s sleeves as she tried to back away. “I was right to place my loyalties in you. I can’t see myself doing this without you. We will yet make the most potent dark magical force since the first followers of Grima. Right, Robin? Are these wishes shared?”

The chair next to her made a hideous screech across the stone floor as Robin reached out to brace herself on something. Robin backed into the table behind her, eyes wide and her breath hitching as Tharja crossed every single boundary of personal space existing between them and pressed her body hard against her.

Tharja’s eyes relentlessly stayed attached to her own, her face tilting up and her body shifting forward as the shorter girl stretched onto her tippy toes to meet the height difference. Robin’s chin tilted up to deny Tharja from getting any closer to her flush face.

“I—I’m.. Tharja, I-I…” Robin fumbled over her words, sincerely regretting having asked what was on her mind. She didn’t know how to handle this unsettling situation at all. “W-what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Tharja replied in a low voice. “I just asked a question, that’s all.”

“No, that is most _definitely_ not _all._ ” 

Tharja’s willowy fingers pulled on either side of Robin’s collar until it was taut at the neck. Robin gulped audibly. Tharja eased down onto her heels as she influenced Robin’s head down with her grip. “What is your answer?”

Robin fumbled over her words. “I-I would like to keep… umm… doing this with you, yes, I am ecstatic at the prospect of continuing to do this. We’ll see about becoming _great_ —even though that is the bare minimum of what I am aiming to achieve here so could you, perhaps, erm… back away now?”

The hint of amusement in Tharja’s eyes made Robin’s face flush hotter in embarrassment. Lacking subtlety, her violet eyes dropped to the soft curves of her lips and rested there. Robin fell into a hyper aware panic, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. 

Then, Tharja’s gaze dropped, her grip on her collar loosening. Robin stood frozen as Tharja reached and pulled up the shoulder of Robin’s robe that had fallen off somewhere along the way. Tharja’s hand lingered as her fingers ghosted from Robin’s shoulder down and fell off to her own side. 

Finally, Tharja swiftly and jarringly stepped away, her arms crossing and her hands trembling before her back and cloak obstructed Robin from seeing much else. 

Robin’s breath had picked up, she realized. She hissed a sigh of relief, still unable to move as she carefully watched Tharja’s every proceeding move. 

The other adept simply gathered her things and turned to leave, in a bit of a hurry. The echoing of her heels filled the room as Tharja retreated to the stairs and disappeared. 

Robin had never factored in whatever _that_ was into their relationship. Tharja had totally blindsided her. Robin didn't know if she wanted to pass off that behavior as harmless. It would be foolish to forget it. How could she even begin to try and forget it?

Robin’s flustered thoughts followed her home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay hello. if you've made it this far into this fic, you must be interested. thank you for reading! 
> 
> this fic is a long, arduous project that is killing me, honestly. it's been 2 years since i've started this and even though i have fallen out of this fandom for the most part, i am still interested in finishing this. my motivation for this comes and goes and it's been sitting in a google doc for a very long time and i figured i should pick my ass up and post it. the hope is to find motivation to push through and finish this fic that i am honestly pretty proud of so far. 
> 
> the original intention was to finish the fic in it's entirety and then post it (since i am guilty of starting big projects and abandoning them with a following), but i just don't think i can do that. and the fact that it was sitting unread by anyone but my brother and my partner was very depressing, so hopefully this helps me to find the willpower to finish it. the next chapter is the big turning point of the fic and it's nearly done and i really want to find some feedback to push me through because it feels like i'm writing for no one right now even though i wanna write for the f!robin/tharja community, as small as it is. if you came to this fic without caring much for the pairing and more for the story, that's incredible and i thank you tenfold for that.
> 
> there's a lot to go here and i hope you'll follow me along for the ride. thank you and enjoy.

Ever since Robin had gotten used to Tharja’s staring, she had forgotten just how intently the other girl’s eyes had been fixated on her during all the classes they shared. It reminded her of the beginning of the year and Robin realized she had yet to take any concrete steps towards befriending Tharja. Though it was obvious at how that backfired against her when Robin had tried to better understand Tharja by asking what was going on in her head. Robin suddenly didn't really want to know too much about Tharja, for fear of constructing that sort of reaction again.

Robin never fathomed any form of physical, platonic, or romantic intimacy. She had been approached by admirers aplenty—and “brutally” shut them down. She was only ever being honest when she said she wasn't interested in a relationship, she didn't know how else to handle their feelings or the strange closeness of someone that called her a friend no matter how well she was able to read them. She just came off as cold and guarded. 

What bothered her about yesterday’s awkward confrontation with Tharja was that, while she tried to avoid the topic as soon as it had left her mouth due to the fact that her question unveiled more information than she wanted to know, she had failed to firmly shut Tharja down and refuse whatever advance she had made on her. Robin caved to that sudden and unexpected pressure and showed a moment of weakness.

Robin could handle an infatuated girl. But Tharja didn't just have eyes for her. Tharja knew her darkest secret, as it stood. This was far out of her hands. Robin remembered what Tharja had said about _sport._ That was why she did any of this. It was for _fun_. Could pursuing her be a part of the thrill-chasing, as well? The thoughts exhausted her.

She was barely present in her classes. Is this the sort of thing students her age had time to focus on—the feelings of other people? Is this what it was like to get involved? Robin felt compromised. She made her way to the hidden room in the library. The entryway was open and she figured that Tharja had gone ahead of her today. She made slow, methodical steps down the stone and halted as the echo of a soft-spoken alto voice filtered up the stairwell. It was a voice that most definitely didn’t belong to Tharja. Her heart stopped in her throat.

“You’re right. These tables—they are dusted clean. And these runes… I don't recognize them. This doesn't look like a room that has been unused for centuries.” 

Another voice piped up, this one airy and feminine. “It’s just as she has shown me. I prayed for the way and she has led us here...”

Someone else spoke up. Perturbed and gruff. “Staying here doesn't guarantee we catch our culprit. We’ll set up a perimeter and investigate who comes in and out.”

Robin’s whole body ran cold as she withdrew back to the stairwell entrance as silently as she could manage—like her life depended on it. She didn't even dare breath until she cleared the opening, her heart jumping three feet out of her body as she collided into another person.

Robin sputtered and cleared her head enough, realizing with a crushing relief that she was confronted with a stunned, confused Tharja. She had no time to explain as she snatched the shorter adept’s wrist and hurried away, her eyes darting over her shoulder to try and catch a glimpse of someone in pursuit. She didn't see anyone. They finally stopped in the history section on the second floor, panting—trembling. As she leaned against a towering shelf to regain her footing, Tharja remained silent. One of Robin’s clenched fists came down on the shelving next to her. She cursed as she let her fear slip into frustration. When she finally looked up, there was a deep-rooted concern in her violet eyes.

“We can't go back there ever again,” Robin managed.

Tharja hissed a shaky sigh. Her hands nervously fiddled with the book in her grasp, her nails digging into the leather continuously. Her eyes darted back and forth between either entrance of the shelving sporadically. “I... figured. You… you weren't seen, were you?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“No.” Robin said, her words visibly instilling relief into Tharja. She looked down to the mundane arithmetic book in her grasp. That reminded her. “Did you leave anything down there aside from the runes on the floor?”

“I don't think so. I took the books home a couple days ago,” Tharja responded quickly.

Robin felt herself weaken in more relief. They had only been working on dark lightning techniques as of late and found no need to have the books there. Right. “We are being careless. We can't do this at school anymore. It was foolish to think that that could be our hideout forever.”

Tharja shifted in frustration, her brows furrowing in thought. “You live in the west dorms, so that's out of the question.”

Robin didn't question how it was that Tharja knew where she lived. “What do you suggest, then?”

“A break. But we could go to my home. I’ll have to get everything set up.” Tharja mumbled.

Robin nodded. “So it must be.”

Soft, dry laughter left Robin’s lips as she mentally stepped back to observe her position. The logical solution was to back away now and refuse to further practice any form of dark magic. A scare like that would set anyone straight. Robin simply thought of how the challenge had just barely begun.

* * *

Tharja led the way as the two adepts trekked away from the looming castle, the heat of the relentless sun beginning to burn their backs as they stepped out of the shadows of the academy. 

The aged sandstone buildings of the capital were plentiful and stretched far to the horizon. The view flattened as Robin and Tharja descended to the level of the city. The streets were bustling with commerce. Pop-up shops were lined up and down the main district way, linens hanging off canopies for shade and rugs laid out on the packed sandy earth. There was jewelry, desert fruit, clothing, lentils of every kind, spices, and so much more attended by families trying to make a living. The heat seemed to be the last of anyone’s worries.

Usually, when Robin was in town, she was bombarded with offers from commoners competing to be the best salesperson on the street. Now it was comparable to a quiet meeting in the library, the way people hushed as they came by. Robin rose a brow as she trailed behind Tharja.

A boy not much younger than the two of them shot up from his seated position next to a pail of water, carrying a bundle of parchment. He approached promptly, barely able to open his mouth before Tharja hissed at him. His eyes widened in fearful surprise as he shrieked away.

Robin recoiled a bit, her expression flabbergasted. She waited until they had walked around the corner to speak. “Um… what was that for?” She inquired.

“What?” Tharja seemed genuinely confused, like her question was completely out of the blue.

“You scared that boy away. That, and I am astutely coming to the conclusion that you seem to have given a similar treatment to a lot of the commoners back there,” Robin explained.

Tharja shrugged. “They’re annoying. If I want something, I’ll be the one to let them know.”

Robin made a bit of a face. She supposed that that was complimentary of Tharja’s character. It just made her realize the depth in which Tharja curved her attitude around her compared to the rest of the world. Why was she so special?

They passed through the archway of a tall, reinforced brick wall and filtered right into a sect of the city that was an unmistakably upper-class district. On either side of the archway, there were guards posted—no doubt to keep unwanted wanderers out. As mages in uniform, there must have been no question about their business here. 

There were fine establishments—buildings that looked like philosophy centers and other meeting quarters for the literate. The estates here were grand, rivaling the grandeur of the castle itself. Tharja stepped up to a wrought-iron gate set into a thick sandstone wall and pushed it open as she approached a beautiful keep. There were columns that seemed to sprout from the ground, cut from the very earth as they led up to the archway of the imposing main entrance. There were even plants and greenery arranged in a vast garden—undoubtedly hard to maintain and rare to find in the desert. Robin gaped in amazement at the display. 

“What exactly does your family do for a living?” Robin asked.

“Who cares?” Tharja said back boredly and continued to the towering front twin doors.

Robin was hushed by the answer, her annoyance evident in her twitching brow.

They stepped into a grand foyer, devoid of any living being. Aged furniture, rich velvet drapes, and rugs of complicated design decorated the vast space. Robin didn't doubt for a second that the chandelier, centerpieces, table accents, and furniture legs were made of anything but pure gold.

Tharja caught Robin gawking. Robin shook her head in disbelief, her wide brown eyes wandering the vicinity searchingly. “Forgive me for inquiring the obvious. But you… live here…?” Robin asked.

Tharja sighed. “Yes. Appearances are everything to my parents.”

Robin hummed as she stepped ahead and inspected her surroundings in finer detail. It was stark clean—not a single hint of dust or decay to be seen. It was as though everything was newly placed, freshly crafted, and barely touched. “This place hardly feels lived in, let alone homely.”

“So you feel that way, too?” Tharja laughed dryly, a one-beat sound.

Robin decided to halt the conversation there, feeling as though she was getting a little too personal.

Tharja beckoned her over to a large staircase in the center of the room that ascended to three different wings, waiting boredly on the railing until Robin began to climb with her. “It’s just me here, most of the time.”

“Just you?” Robin asked.

“Well, there are three attendants in the kitchen, five housemaids, and four gardeners. But they know not to come anywhere near my room and not to talk to me.”

Tharja parted to the leftmost wing and down a corridor that Robin figured hardly ever got any light. Heavy drapes covered the tall windows, shrouding a majority of the late afternoon sun. “They only ever come down these halls to place breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the door.”

Robin nodded and Tharja stopped at the end of the hall and pushed open the last entrance on the left. Tharja waited for her to step in first.

Tharja’s room was as extravagant as the foyer, though arguably much more lived in. The space was large for a single person, but at this point, scale did not surprise Robin.

There were two tall armoires at either side of a grand bow window. The shelving around the room was filled with various jars and containers and plants. There was an entire half wall dedicated to a bookcase that was filled with at least a hundred different titles. The desk in the corner was the messiest of the space, papers and tomes open to seemingly random pages with ink splayed all over.

Opposite the desk, the other corner had a huge black brick fireplace. A lavish rug and a loveseat were placed modestly back from the raised hearth. There was a table with four chairs behind the loveseat.

Tharja had the most substantial bed Robin had ever seen. It had a canopy of dark purple satin falling around the frame; a rich, dark velvet comforter; and an endless amount of expensive tasseled, laced, and ruffled pillows. Robin knew she could fit about six people comfortably shoulder-to-shoulder across it’s length. There were two nightstands pressed against the wall and a bench trunk placed at the end of the bed.

Just beyond that was a door that was wide open, leading into a bathroom with stark marble flooring and sterling silver fixtures. There was a mirror that lined the whole wall. The wallpaper was black and detailed with intricate gold swirling motifs.The draperies, towels, towelettes, and bath rugs were purple.

Robin was stunned at the sheer luxury of the abode. Robin found herself wondering who exactly Tharja’s parents were. Tharja obviously had a tendency to under exaggerate details about herself to the point where the information she gave was absolutely useless.

Robin spent the longest amount of time next to the bookcase studying the titles. Perhaps she could learn more of the type of person that her host was if she could glean over the collection closely enough. There were old story books, historical texts, essay books, reference books, instructional books. Amongst that, a good amount of them were written in Plegian. She recognized most of the titles but could gather nothing from their existence on the shelf, alone. None of the dark magic tomes were there, rightfully so.

Robin had crossed her arms, withdrawn into herself in deep thought. She blinked and glanced over to the desk opposite the bookcase, well aware of how quiet her now-seated host was being. Tharja’s eyes instantly met her own. She was leaning onto one side of her chair, her legs crossed and her head tilted. A brazen grin was at her lips.

Robin remembered the events of the previous day and what Tharja had said about why she always liked watching her. She swallowed hard and tuned back into the books. How could she continue to play off the fact that she knew something like that? It was going to get increasingly difficult to ignore those stares and pass them off as harmless—not that Tharja was harmful in much sense of the word. It honestly just made everything awkward.

The only way to really deflect Tharja’s attention, if only temporarily, was to start opening the books and doing what they came here to do. “And where do you keep the Books of Grima?”

Tharja begrudgingly stood after a long pause and a low sigh. Robin looked over her shoulder, watching as the other adept sauntered over to the fireplace. She ducked and stepped into the hearth, disappearing from sight. Her head poked back out as she looked expectantly towards her. “Well? Are you coming?”

Robin hesitated before joining her at the fireplace. She bent over, looking into the space curiously. She stepped in after her, finding that she was able to comfortably stand within the massive hearth. When she looked up, she saw the faint outline of the chimney disappearing into the darkness.

A spark of purple magic from Tharja caught Robin’s attention. Tharja faced the wall of the fireplace, her finger aglow with an otherworldly light. Then she began writing a series of runes, the floating symbols spelling out what Robin recognized as an ancient sigil of passage. Tharja finished off with a symbol that Robin had only seen in the books that they frequented together: the six eyes of Grima. It disappeared and sizzled out as Tharja swiped away the magic in one swift motion.

The grinding of rock against rock sounded in every direction as the platform of the hearth underfoot began to shift downward. Robin’s skull rattled at the sheer force of the vibrations. Robin stood with her arms crossed as she stared ahead at nothing. She closed her eyes, finding no difference in what she saw in front of her.

A wisp of noise that wasn’t the shifting of rocks caught her attention. She figured it must have been Tharja trying to say something. The longer it went on, the more that Robin came to the realization that she was hearing a breath of a voice from the back of her head. She stood completely still in growing disbelief, her arms tightening as she tried to decipher what it was that she was hearing—or _who_ was speaking to her.

Just as the muddiness of the voice cleared and became more than just a whisper at the back of her mind, an unreasonable, gripping fear possessed her. She was hearing something like no voice she had even heard before. The words were spoken in a chilling, guttural drawl that was like claws raking down the back of her neck. Her heart rate picked up and a cold sweat broke across her brow. Her blood turned to ice in her veins. She was frozen, realizing that she could not move her body.

_Death… death… death…_

The voice repeated itself over and over again in her mind into it reached a thunderous boom of frothing anger and bloodlust. She wanted so badly to clamp her hands down onto her ears to try and block some of the noise that assaulted her mind. She wanted to fall to her knees and curl up into a helpless ball. She wanted escape and she felt fear like none she had ever felt before. But Robin could not move an inch.

Her throat filled with liquid hot iron and salt, the corners of her eyes burning as she tried to swallow past the wave of nausea. 

_Let there be death, in my name._

Robin tore her eyes open. She was standing, arms crossed. Her whole body was quivering. There was a clammy sweat on the back of her neck and on her forehead. Looking around at her surroundings in a frenzied panic, Robin realized she was in an underground dungeon of some sort. The world swam as her eyes swung back and forth. She swallowed hard in an attempt to quell the bile in her throat.

Tharja held up a ball of purple fire, lighting the corridor ahead of her. She had stepped off of the platform and was looking back at her, an ebb of worry in her features. “Robin…?”

Robin took a deep, uneven breath in as she stepped off after her, trying to play off her unease. Her boots fumbled a bit before she caught herself. She stopped dead in her tracks when Tharja quickly swung around and held her fire up close to her face, illuminating her shaken features. Tharja stared in awe, her violet eyes growing wide.

“What?” Robin managed breathlessly and blinked a couple times in confusion as she felt her heart begin to simmer down. Her nauseousness began to subside, as well.

Tharja’s expression grew even more amazed. There was a long pause. “It’s nothing,” she finally said, gradually easing away from her.

Robin wasn’t taking the lie. “Of course there’s _something_ … what was that?”

“What was what?” Tharja asked slowly. She held out her fire in a small semi-circle around her, looking about as she tried to spot anything out of the ordinary.

Robin didn’t even know where to start. “You...you didn’t hear anything just now?”

Tharja took a moment longer to respond, her brows furrowing. “No, I didn’t.”

Robin completely blanked as she stared at the other adept. What had just happened to her, then? She shook her head, trying to calm her nerves. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, the scratchiness of the mesh fabric a welcomed sensation as she tried to take her mind off of what had just occurred. “Let’s just keep going…”

Tharja hesitated. Robin walked past her, as there was just one corridor to continue down on. She caught up easily enough and took the lead.

“How far underground are we?” Robin inquired after a moment of stagnant silence.

“About two stories below the keep,” Tharja replied over her shoulder.

“May I ask why it is that your family owns a dungeon underneath their home or should I just expect a half-assed explanation on that, too?”

Tharja snorted. “If you wanted me to clarify on anything I have told you, you should have just asked.”

“Answer the question.”

“Fine,” Tharja mumbled monotonously. “This has been here ever since this place was built by my ancestors hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. The purposes of it has changed over the generations. First, it was to house prisoners of war. Then it was used as refuge for the rich and powerful when the Ylissean army was said to have gotten dangerously close to the walls of our capital. Then it was used to congregate the magical elite so that no spies may infiltrate the finesse of their war planning. Then, it was used for nothing. Now, we will use it to practice our art.”

Robin perked up in interest, thankful to hear Tharja talk more than a sentence in reply. Listening to her speak managed to work down her nerves. “Who else knows about the existence of this place?”

“No one.”

Robin was unconvinced. “Your parents?”

Tharja gave her a sharp look. “No one,” she repeated. “This place has been unused even before their time. I know it.”

“How is it that you manage to find every crack in this world that happens to be unvisited by any other living being?” It was a question she really wanted a straight answer to. There was no feasible way that Tharja knew these things without someone else telling her or at least not without her discovering secret information stowed away in some sort of manuscript that lead to her discoveries, which could be accessible to people other than her.

Robin’s thoughts resurfaced a question she had thought she knew the answer to before; Who was Tharja, exactly?

There was another pause as Tharja turned into an archway and began lighting the torches and candles around the vicinity, slowly revealing a mostly empty room with an expansive floor and black stained wood shelving and tables on the outer rims of the space.

“I’ll tell you how I found this place one day. I don’t think today is that day,” Tharja said cryptically as she let the fire in her palm sizzle out.

Robin supposed she had exhausted her straightforward answers from the other adept for the day. She rolled her eyes and began to peruse the room. The tables were filled with tools and equipment she expected to see of an apothecary. There were journals upon journals of gathered and stacked documents that Robin was immediately attracted to. She flipped through them, only able to imagine the amount of time she could spend here in this corner alone.

There was a large world map covering the entire expanse of the far wall. Judging by the markings, this map was a detailed visualization of where battles of the Fourth War took place. It was over a century old. As of why it was decided to be a wall decoration was questionable to Robin but she didn’t think much more of it.

The more Robin scanned the tables, the more that she realized the rarity of the collection of documents and books that were here. There were volumes upon volumes of tomes she had never seen anywhere else before, save for the brief glances she ascertained from Tharja’s show and tell down in the dark recesses of the hidden room of the library.

She pulled out a book that was a fine aged leather dyed black and bound by plates of gold on the spine and corners. This was indefinitely nicer than anything that Tharja had bothered to bring to school. There were more just like it with varying symbols she did not recognize engraved on the faces. Robin began to feel herself get weak at the knees.

They had just barely scratched the surface of the surface and nothing excited her more.

“Is this…” Robin started, looking down the entire way of shelving, filled edge to edge. “...a complete collection? Are these all the Books of Grima?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

Robin swallowed. She wanted to know all of these books inside and out. She wanted to dissect their secret—to absorb them and to make this magic her own. She wanted nothing more than this in her life.

* * *

The night grew old. Robin could only guess the time by how heavy her eyes had gotten as she scanned a tome she held down at her hip and coddled a small swirling vortex of purple. She sighed and dispersed the concentrated whirl of wind, blinking her tired eyes.

Robin wished dearly that she didn’t have priorities in the morning. She wished she didn’t have to waste her time casting the same mind-numbing spells day in and out. She wished she didn’t have to pretend to be socially competent while interacting with professors and other people. But she had assigned herself to such a remedial life. At least she had the opportunities to practice this magic in the shadows. She still had such a far ways to go until she was satisfied with her abilities. At least that was something to work towards.

“It’s late. I should be getting back to campus,” Robin said as she closed the book she held with one hand.

“You can stay here...” Tharja mumbled into the book she held up to her face without looking up from it.

Robin’s eye twitched. She looked down to the other adept who sat criss-cross on the floor across from her. “Thank you for the offer… but I really must be going.”

“You should stay.”

“But I won’t.”

Tharja finally looked up from her book with her signature deadpanned look. “What kind of a host would I be if I didn’t offer you dinner and a bed to sleep in?”

“A rude one, I suppose. But since you have offered and I am declining kindly, that is irrelevant.”

Robin stared as Tharja actually sat and pouted. Robin opened and closed her mouth several times before she found something to say. “W-why am I fighting you about this? Shouldn’t it be my choice whether or not I would like to stay?”

Tharja heaved an annoyed sigh. “Why _don’t_ you want to stay?”

Robin didn’t answer immediately. There were a lot of reasons, but what was she willing to admit to? She went with a half-lie. “I have a strict morning regime and would like to be at school in my dorm to perform it.” She delivered her words like a half-lie. Awfully.

“I know your morning routine. It isn’t that exciting.”

Gods, Robin didn’t want to know that or how Tharja managed to keep such a straight face while saying things like that. She wasn’t sure how to talk her way out of this. “I’ll see how I’m feeling after dinner. But no promises. In fact, I am still very set on leaving.”

“I can be _extremely_ persuasive. You won’t be set for very long.”

What kind of gimmick was this? Robin made a face and turned away to clean up what she had designated as her permanent work area, complete with a table, some shelving, and a simple wooden chair.

They made their way to the elevator. Tharja drew out another rune of passage and swiped it away. Robin’s stomach twisted in a nervous knot when it became dark and the grinding of stone filled her ears. The longer they were submerged in the darkness, the more afraid she was to stand still. She shifted from boot to boot, turning and letting her eyes roam around to nothing. Her fingers nervously flexed.

Robin flinched at the coo of soft mumbling at the back of her mind, reflexively raising her fist and igniting fire from her palm, drowning the space in light.

Tharja rose a hand to shield her eyes from the sudden burst of fire. “Agh! Perhaps a warning the next time you’d like to try and blind me?”

“Sorry… I just... thought I heard something,” Robin managed, relaxing her arm a bit to her side and turning the flame away from the other girl.

“That was me trying to tell you to stand still because you were making me nervous!” Tharja returned sharply.

Robin sighed, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Apologies. I’m … a little tired.”

Tharja grunted and looked away. A few moments passed before she spoke again, the tone of her voice having shifted to something akin to an attempt at comfort. “You know… it’s… it’s not just you. You’re not the only one.”

Robin didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t have been talking about being tired. Tharja’s words seemed pointed, like she wasn’t sure if she should be sharing what she was. “What are you talking about?”

Tharja’s gaze fell and her brows furrowed. “Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing. You can’t keep dodging my questions constantly like I don’t deserve answers to any—” Robin’s voice got caught in her throat as she felt Tharja’s hand slip casually into her own. Oh. Was this another attempt at comfort…? It must have also been in part to get her to stop prying. Robin looked away, her shoulders tense as she cursed it’s effectiveness, arguably in both intended aspects. When she tested how much she could move her hand in Tharja’s grasp, she quickly discovered that it wasn’t a whole lot. She snuffed out the flame in her hand to try and preserve some of her dignity before she squeezed Tharja’s hand back, holding it for the rest of the way up.

Dinner had gone mostly cold, even with a collection of hot stones submerged in water underneath the dishes to preserve their heat. Even so, the plentiful selection of bread and fowl and vegetables was delicious. Robin would have preferred water over red wine to drink but did not complain as she downed a goblet of the bitter alcohol. 

As per usual, Tharja was a meticulous eater. She picked everything apart and pushed each bite back and forth on her plate excessively before finally putting it in her mouth. The food would have gone cold regardless of how long it had been there by the time she finished her plate. Robin found the process quite entertaining. 

“Instead of watching me eat, you could take a bath, if you’d like,” Tharja murmured. She seemed nervous underneath Robin’s gaze, which had grown lax due to the alcohol.

Robin recalled the fixtures in the bathroom. It would be very nice to take a bath, in all seriousness. Robin also hadn’t forgotten that she was being roped into staying. She thought of the cold water of the basins that she was forced to use at school to bathe. 

“The water is heated from downstairs. The fires of the furnace burns all hours of the day,” Tharja added.  
Robin sighed in defeat and stood from the table, heading to the bathroom. With a meal that settled just right in her stomach and the idea of a hot bath, Robin begrudgingly admitted to herself that Tharja was being quite persuasive.

“Act as though anything in there is your own. If you need something, I’ll be here,” Tharja said and Robin could practically hear the grin in her voice.

After lighting the candles around the bathroom, she closed the door behind her and noticed a locking mechanism, which she engaged as quietly as possible. Robin then comfortably worked off her robe, carefully hanging it up before kicking off her boots and stripping bare. She pulled out the bands in her hair and pushed the platinum strands behind her shoulders.

She came over to the sterling silver tub, pumping in the water from the sprout. She could see the steam filtering off of it and she felt her stomach get light in excitement.

Robin noticed a collection of bottles lined up on a nearby corner table. She padded over, picking one up and trying to see what was inside. The liquid sloshed side to side, a pleasant fragrance of lemons and sage coming from it. Her eyebrows shot up as she slowly looked to the rest of the bottles.

Robin found a bottle that smelled of crushed pines and poured a modest amount into the still-scalding water. The liquid dispersed slowly along the surface, the calming aroma of fresh pine needles riding the steam and filling the room.

Finally, Robin dared to begin to climb into the tub, hissing at the heat but finally submerging herself all the way up to her neck in the water. She felt her entire body loosen and practically melt. “Very convincing, Tharja… very convincing indeed…” She whispered to herself.

She listened to the movements in the other room, reflecting back on how it was she had gotten here. She thought of her close experience with the people who had found their hideout in the library and what she had heard. Her mind caught on one thing in particular that didn’t quite make any sense.

“‘It’s just as she has shown me. I prayed for the way and she has led us here’...” she murmured the exact words. 

The shuffling in the other room halted. “Did you say something?” Tharja called, her voice muffled. 

Robin let herself sink deeper into the water, blowing bubbles out once her lips dipped under the surface. She pushed herself back up and straightened up her posture, figuring it was important to include Tharja in her thoughts. She raised her voice and looked to the door. “There was something strange that I overheard down in the library the other day. Something about… prayers leading those people to our hideout. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

There was a pause. “I have not,” Tharja replied slowly, sounding remarkably closer to the door. “Are you sure that’s what you heard?”

“It’s hard to place, but I’m positive that that is what was said,” Robin said, thoughtfully passing her hands over the surface of the hot bathwater. There was no reply. She sighed and stood, feeling a bit dizzy from the combination of heat and alcohol in her system. She toweled herself off and picked out a luxurious silk bathrobe, wrapping it around her body. She gathered her clothes and boots, arms full as she slowly unlocked the bathroom door and slipped back into Tharja’s room.

Tharja was standing in front of the window, her arms crossed as she gazed out into the dark courtyard.

“The bath is still hot,” Robin said as she laid out her robe and uniform, readying it for the next day.

“You may wear whatever you’d like in here,” Tharja said as she tore her eyes from the window, coming around to the farthest armoire and pulling it open to reveal numerous styles of night clothes. 

The door clicked behind Tharja as she disappeared into the bathroom. Robin picked out a modest nightgown, trying to figure out why she had completely resigned to the situation. Perhaps this would all be for the best, since she had managed to learn something about Tharja today—no matter how minute the information seemed to be.

For someone who was so infatuated with her, Tharja was still incredibly guarded and careful towards her. Robin remembered the words they had shared on the way back up to the bedroom. What in the world could Tharja have been referring to by telling her that she wasn’t “the only one”? 

Robin pulled the cotton of the nightgown she had picked out over her head. A gentle sigh fell past her lips as she pulled her wet platinum blonde hair over one shoulder. She needed to be more adamant about getting her questions answered. 

As she traversed the room, Robin pondered that if she had secrets and she were Tharja, where would she be stowing them? Nowhere in plain sight was the obvious answer. Robin supposed she had some secrets of her own, now. 

That voice below the keep… there was no mistaking what she had heard. She swallowed past a knot in her throat that grew out of anxiety. She had never read a personal account of a mage who heard voices—especially not the voices of something that sounded too terrifying to be recognizable as anything from this world.

Robin hadn’t realized how long she had been pacing. She was so engulfed in thought that she failed to notice Tharja come out of the wash room and change into a night robe. Robin watched as Tharja crossed in front of her blew out some of the last candles in the room, finally drawing out of the busy recesses of her mind.

Robin hesitated as her mouth parted before she shook her head. “I’m... sleeping here?” Robin could see the dark silhouette of Tharja retreat back to the bed. 

“Of course you are.” The reply from the dark was stated as painfully matter-of-fact.

“You don’t have a guest room?” Robin asked in growing horror.

“... hm.” Tharja hummed in response.

“... What in the world does that mean?” 

“I never once considered that you should sleep in a different room.” Tharja said. Robin couldn’t fathom the thought process that led to that conclusion. “Well, it’s too late to have something accommodated for you. Too much of a hassle. I’ll be sure to warn the maids in the future.”  
Robin stood, her expression that of utter dumbfoundedness. The rustling of sheets and pillows sounded for a long while. Her eyes adjusted to the dark just as she watched Tharja settle on a half of the bed that she had made. 

“It should be plenty of space. I’ll only come onto your side if you want me to.”  


_Why would I want you to do that?_ Robin wanted to inquire but decided that it was best to let that conversation drop entirely. She slipped into the bed on the opposite side of Tharja and slumped into the softness of the mattress. Robin didn’t plan on getting much sleep anyway so there was really not much to worry about. That was the thought, at least.

Robin rolled onto her back as she looked up to the silks of the canopy. She heard a sigh from the other half of the bed before silence settled. She did her best to lay still, busying her fingers with the tedious task of pushing back the cuticles on each of her nails. 

It felt like hours had passed of Robin chasing her own thoughts. From the voice to Tharja’s guarded nature to the chunk of information she had absorbed in her readings today to what they would do in the event that they were caught. There was yet to be any real precautions established. Robin thought of the workings of fleeing to Valm. It was considered an act of war to house any Grimleal practitioners inside of the country knowingly. Otherwise, it would take at least a week to send word of dark magic happenings to the Plegian Council. A week more to send forces out to expel it. 

The more Robin thought about it, the more palpable she found the idea. In the end, she hoped it didn’t have to come to a chase across the continents for their heads. She did want to stay here and achieve a high rank. Her ambitions in that regard were warranted and natural. She had dedicated a lot of time into practicing her magic and she wanted to use it to help protect people. 

But was that really all? She would have eventually considered looking for this magic on her own. She read and learned from the Books of Grima because she hungered for the challenge—a once in a lifetime opportunity. That was never a question. There was an entire field of magic that no one living person knew in depth. There was a part of her that wanted to _conquer_ it. How powerful was all of the knowledge of those books put together? What about if it was coupled with her studies now? Could the Grandmaster, the most indomitable force of magic in their country, match the power of the Books of Grima? 

Could anyone?

Robin silently scoffed to herself. If that was the case, then Plegia would still be a theocracy and Ylisse would have been decimated into a valley of ash long ago. But those troops that felled Grima had a millenia of experience against dark magic. That experience must have been lost. Dark magic then and now were two very different things.

Robin finally began to rest her eyes. Early morning was approaching steadfast. Robin turned onto her side, weary from the long day as she willed her mind to run blank and slip into sleep.

Rustling on the other side of the bed slowly shifted Robin back to awareness. She kept her eyes closed, brows deepening in a furrow. The rustling stopped and started consistently like clockwork. The sheets were pulled uncomfortably taut on her and she tiredly pushed them away. A knot of unease settled in Robin’s stomach as she heard Tharja’s breath begin to pick up unnaturally. The rustling became tossing and before long, her breathing became short, desperate gasps. 

Robin’s blood ran cold. She knew she had to wake Tharja up. She opened her eyes and sat up, glancing over in the dark, hesitating as she was unsure of how to proceed. But then, Tharja fell still in an instant. Robin’s heart was hammering in her chest.

Was she…?

Robin crawled over, dread locking up her body as she neared and waited. She could barely make out Tharja’s form tangled in the linens. She reached forward slowly and placed her palm in front of Tharja’s face, feeling for breath. Faint. Robin felt past Tharja’s jaw to her neck for a pulse. Alive. 

Thoroughly spooked, Robin considered waking her. As she settled back onto her side of the bed, hesitating once more, Tharja suddenly bolted up and spilled out of bed. Robin flinched back and cupped her hand over her mouth to stop her noise of surprise from leaving her lips.

Hurried steps sounded off into the washroom. Robin remained frozen as she heard Tharja wretch and the splash of vomit. 

It took a moment for her to process the suddenness in which everything occurred. Shaking off the brunt of her shock, Robin pushed her way out of bed, halting at the doorway. She ignited a small palm of fire and lit a few candles next to the door. She could hardly see the slumped form of Tharja on the far side of the room collapsed on the floor. Robin swallowed and came up behind her, kneeling down slowly. 

Tharja used the edge of a knee-high water basin to support her folded arms. Her head was bowed, hair falling over her face as she panted. Her physical form quivered as she trembled like a child. It was unnerving to see her reduced to such—seemingly impossible as she witnessed it now. Tharja wasn't invincible, but she had always seemed mentally impervious—like she was the last person in the world to have been shaken like this. 

A bit of twisted, tired laughter fell from Tharja’s lips. “This is embarrassing…” she murmured, the words raw and strained. 

“Are you alright…?” 

“Fine,” Tharja mustered back, her voice cracking pitifully. 

“What… was that about?”

“Silly night terrors. I thought I was done with them, but that doesn’t seem to be the case,” she replied, sounding as though she was finding some of her usual self again. 

Robin didn’t know of any nightmares that made someone physically sick. “What did you dream about?”

Tharja paused, her head heavy as she turned her eyes to Robin, her body quivering as a disturbed smile came to her lips. A soundless laugh shook her. “Something so wonderfully terrible, there is no feasible way that it could actually be a part of this world.”

A chord struck in Robin’s mind. Her jaw opened slowly as her eyes looked right through Tharja to nothing.

There was no way… it had to have been coincidence. A strange use of words. Plus, there was nothing wonderful about the thing she was thinking of, if they were indeed the same thing. Somehow, though, Robin knew she couldn't put it entirely past Tharja’s skewed perception to see it like that.

There really was no way. Robin shook her head and placed her hand on Tharja’s shoulder in quiet support as she retched again.


	4. Chapter 4

A torrential storm of sand flew past Robin, small grains cutting her cheeks as her hood was blown back. She squeezed her eyes shut and wove a messy slew of wind, dissipating the magic that assaulted her with a counter cross of air. 

Robin was quicker to react when the next barrage of wind came at her from her opponent. She cancelled out the force with a perfectly placed and calculated burst of magical wind and immediately conjured up heat in her palms, blowing through the settled dust with a roaring bolt of angry fire.

She remained calm and collected while she repositioned herself in the environment, her back pressing against a slab of sandstone as she hid and hastily scribbled out a rune of entrapment with her hands, the strokes glowing before her as she set it into the ground and covered it with a small wind that carried sand over it after one fluid flick of her palm.

The ground rumbled as she felt one of her entrapment runes spring off. She had been strategically placing them all along the course. After all, this exercise was easily about outsmarting her opponents. While they were busy attacking her with an onslaught of magic in hopes of overpowering her, she played the role of the fleeing, defeated mage by placing traps behind her steps as she retreated through the terrain with them in hot pursuit. That or they fought and exhausted each other when they met on the field.

It was an eight way free-for-all and there was only two left standing. For now.

Robin grinned and pulled her hood back up, breaking her cover as she trudged quickly across the sand. 

She approached a small, ruined sandstone temple. Robin recalled exactly where she had placed her trap when she took refuge here just minutes ago. 

As she turned the corner cautiously, a blazing heat suddenly came missiling towards her. She reacted quickly and maneuvered the fire up and over her head. It hissed out and blackened the stone above and behind her. She dodged another sling of fire, her eyes falling on her opponent—she recalled him as Sullivan—who was locked in a grip of stone from the ground by his leg. He was recklessly attacking her as he feverishly tried to escape his bonds, knowing full well that he was like an animal caught in a trap.

This exercise was over.

She sent a single wave of powerful, cutting wind through the onslaught of flame. Fire stopped whizzing past her and a sharp cry of pain echoed off the walls. Having been in reserve for the whole battle, she still had a large amount of her magic left. The same couldn’t be said for the other student. She attacked with another gust of wind and watched as her opponent was blown back, his leg keeping him anchored to the ground as his body jerked to stop. He fell, his eyes wide as his shoulders and head hit the ground with a thump. Then there was stillness. Robin waited for movement before she assessed that he was out cold. Or she had killed him. It wasn’t unheard of during these events. 

Robin nervously neared and knelt down over his body and checked for a pulse. After a moment, relief overtook her as she sensed a rhythm. She pulled off the marker on his coat signifying that he was still in the game and hung it next to the five other colored markers she had on her belt—one being her own.

Robin began the trek back to the starting grounds. Every inch of earth was baking in the sun and the blinding glare off of the sand was starting to make her sick. It was too hot out here. She could see the slabs of the course entrance in the distance. The heat made the structures seem distorted like they were phasing in and out some other world. Her attention tunneled for fifteen minutes until she could hear the idle chatter of her instructors and the rest of her class carry downwind. She wiped at her brow and pulled back her cloak hood when she cleared the last sand dune up to the gathering. A team of healers on standby rushed out onto the field by wyvern back.

Robin came up to the congregation and silence ensued. There was quite a crowd of onlookers no doubt consisting of eager upperclassman who wanted their shot at the Basin’s challenges and the bragging rights that came with winning it. A girl collapsed to her knees as she realized that her friend had not made it back and was probably injured. Robin felt pity but she would not feel guilt for having come out on top. She deserved this spot, after all.

There was quite a crowd of onlookers. She wordlessly approached a single pike stuck into the ground and tied each marker around the top of the shaft, making sure to put her own golden colored marker on the top. A reserved applause followed and one of her instructors stepped forward, an old, wrinkled man with an oval-shaped face. Some people didn’t clap at all—a familiar group of white-caped and armored individuals.

“Congratulations, Adept Robin. You continue to impress and astound us with your tactics and skill,” he said with a wide, moustached grin.

“High-Mage Caius. Thank you for your praise, though I am nothing without your guidance and the wisdom of your peers,” Robin said instinctively—knowing very well that that was something that her instructors _loved_ to hear. 

Her words were received well as a hearty chuckle left Caius. “You may yet make your promotion well before graduating. There is talk of such a thing, you know?”

Robin was somewhat surprised. She didn’t expect this sort of news so soon. The rank of Neophyte was mostly given to fully-fledged mages of Plegia. For a student to hold that rank while still attending the academy, while not unheard of, provided her with authority above her peers. She would also easily be considered as a strong candidate for a promotion to High-Mage if this went on her record, as well. This was a promotion into the student government that trained for the real thing—the Council. “I’m deeply honored, sir. I anxiously await any other news regarding this promotion.”

He smiled wide and waved her off as some of her peers finally approached and congratulated her. Robin wanted to be thankful for the praise, but it was given out of bitterness. Done out of necessity to get on her good side, no doubt. It pained Robin. She didn’t know how else to receive them but with an empty smile as she bit the insides of her cheeks.

“Hey, Robin! Poor Sullivan over there has a bit of a concussion! Did you smash his head into a rock before the rest of us could get around to doing it?” A cheery voice sounded from behind and she turned to see the unsettling and smiling face of Henry. Robin stiffened and swallowed uncomfortably. Everyone else who was lined up to offer her more meaningless words of praise backed off.

“It was an accident. He was the last target. There was no need to do anything brash to get him down. He has a lot of energy in him and for that, he is dangerous, but it was ultimately his own downfall,” Robin said.

Henry shrugged. “A shame. If it were me, I’d find all sorts of fun things to do out there to the people who deserve it.”

Robin knew her definition of ‘fun’ and Henry’s were very different. And while Sullivan wasn’t the most liked boy at school, she had no problems with him, though she did feel a small sense of victory at being the one to have felled him, no matter how it had happened. “Yes, first years can’t take the challenge… I don’t doubt that you will be a… formidable opponent when the time comes.”

“Gee thanks! Maybe I’ll fall into the Basin with you one day and we can have at it! I think aiming to beat you is a very ambitious goal!” Henry grinned wider and cocked his head. 

“All right… well, I’m going... to go sit down…”

“Rest up and good job!” Henry beamed before he did a complete 180 on the heels of his boots and headed off.

Robin allowed herself to deflate a bit as she came up to a water pump and pulled out her waterskin, relieved at finally having left the commotion of the crowd. The cool water spilled over her hand a bit as she tried to capture it, her eyes flicking up to the armored soldiers occasionally until the task was done. She took a seat in the shade where she could continue to get a good view of them.

“White Capes. They’re sort of annoying, aren’t they?”

“Why would they be annoying for doing their job? I’m sure they’re even more annoyed by the fact that they have to be here and not back in cool, beautiful Ylisse,” Robin muttered into the mouth of her waterskin, not at all surprised by the suddenness of Tharja’s appearance from the shadows. 

Tharja snorted and took the seat next to her. “There are rumors going around that they’re the ones heading the Grimleal magic investigation.”

“I’ve heard,” Robin’s voice dropped considerably. She took a moment to drink the bulk of her waterskin, pulling back from the mouth of it with a sigh. “I’ve seen them. They’re not exactly trying to be sneaky. They’re patrolling and watching—trying to be intimidating.”

Robin could hear the smirk on Tharja’s voice. “How intimidating could they be? They walk in cadence and they have swords at their sides, yes, but this is a school of _mages_. Don’t they know the rules of swords, axes, and lances? Magic always wins.”

“You may be right.” Robin returned. She caught the eyes of several White Capes looking her direction. She wasn’t put off by it. There was no way they knew. But the way some of their eyes seemed to linger was enough to make Robin start to question what is was that they had managed to unveil, if anything more than she knew. “However, they’ve been doing something right if they uncovered the hidden room in the library. They have more at their disposal than their weapons. Underestimating them would be a death sentence.”

Tharja fell quiet, her violet eyes shifting elsewhere. 

Robin watched from the corner of her eye as the White Capes fell into formation upon the arrival of a single figure shrouded in a white robe with the hood pulled up. They began their march away from the event and towards the castle. Robin allowed herself a better look at the white-robed person but couldn’t ascertain much from this distance. What business involved the need for a Ylissean official to remain anonymous during a visit to Plegia?

“You did well out in the Basin. It comes as no surprise, of course. I wish I could have seen you out there firsthand. It must have been a marvelous sight to behold…” Tharja muttered. 

Robin shot a sidelong glance to her companion, hesitating. Tharja was genuine in the most overbearing way. Robin supposed she preferred it to the empty praise of her other classmates. “Thank you. It was just a matter of thinking a couple steps ahead. Nothing much to it.”

When Tharja seemed to lack a response, Robin pushed onto a different topic, her gaze falling down to the ground as she leaned forward onto her knees. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Tharja replied evenly. Robin could sense the automatic, empty nature of the answer. There was no use in prying.

“Well, whenever you’re not, it’s alright to tell me. We are…” Robin prepared herself for what she was about to say with a gulp. “... friends after all, aren’t we?”

Tharja hummed lowly and turned towards her, leaning forward in animated scrutiny. “... you could call it that...”

Robin masked a gentle bout of laughter. That just sounded something so stereotypically Tharja, it was comical. “I suppose.”

* * *

Rows and rows of books passed in front of Robin’s lax gaze, the words along the spines gibberish to her as she tuned into the conversation through the cracks of the shelf. 

“High-Mage Caius asked me to make a case, so I did,” a mindfully soft spoken, secretive voice said. 

“What did you say?” The other student inquired tensely, volume identical to the first. 

A cough. “I… I said what he told me to say. I told them about the uncontrollable itch on my forearms. I told them I only noticed it whenever I try to study. They didn't think this was a case until I showed them the scabs.”

A corner of Robin’s mouth quirked up. She remembered the casting of that one vividly. It was only fitting that the student that blackmailed others and took essays as payment to keep quiet would meet a roadblock such as a bothersome little itch when he tried to gain his grade honestly. He could only blackmail so many people to help his grade, after all. 

“Well, do they think it’s really…?”

“I don’t know,” the shaky reply became drenched with frustration. “They didn't say. They just asked me if I had any enemies at this school and I told them who might have had it out for me.”

Robin’s smirk faded as she tugged out a silver plated book and opened it to a random page. They wouldn't find a correlation that way. Everyone at this school had a bit of corruption running in them. It seemed to spurt out of necessity for survival. Even if they discerned that those who were hexed probably deserved it, it would answer very little about who the culprit might be. However, it could still be trouble if she or Tharja happened to be named. 

“Who do you think it could be?” The question left the other student and Robin allowed for her to live the relief that what she wanted to ask had been said for just a moment before she strained to hear. 

“I just don't know. I said Morana because… you know. I also mentioned Retonald and Sullivan. Then they asked me if I knew of anyone else who has been acting strange lately…”

Robin tapped on the page she had open with a grin and snapped the book closed, turning down the way as she lost interest in the conversation. 

Robin stepped out of the library and into the corridors. She tucked the book she took from the library underneath her arm and headed for the main study hall to see if she could pick up on any more nervous gossip from her classmates. 

The clanking of armor echoed through the halls and got close behind her. “Adept Robin? Excuse me, Adept?”

She stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder, unsurprised as a young looking man brandishing the signature Ylissean white cloak and silver filigree armor came before her. He had honest eyes and long, blond hair. 

She waited for him to get close before she greeted him. “Good afternoon. How may I help you?”

“I have been looking for you. If you aren't busy, could you please come with me for a little chat?” He asked politely, his voice a pleasant and soft alto. Robin was cautious. She had heard his voice somewhere else before. He folded his armored hands in front of him with a series of small metallic clicks. 

Robin had expected to be due for an interview. She hummed and made her best thinking face as she pulled out her book from her arm and looked down at it,  
noticing what the title of it was for the first time. “I suppose reading can wait. Will we be very long?” she asked as she glanced back up at him questioningly as she turned towards him fully. 

“I only ask for half of the hour, if not less,” he replied. Robin noted that while he spoke politely, he held a very small compass of emotion in his expression. 

Robin nodded in response with a casual smile. “That should be fine, then. Please lead the way.”

The man nodded and beckoned her back to where he had just come from. “Yes, I understand as a student at the top of your class, you must utilize your every minute studying and practicing your magic. I will have you on your way as soon as I can.”

As he led the way, the conversation died down. Robin was thankful that he wasn't one for small talk. She didn't know how many pleasantries she could fake until she started to sound less and less genuine. Plus, she was trying to convince herself that there was nothing to be nervous about. She wanted to mull over that as quietly as she could. 

As they traversed through the castle, patrols of White Capes saluted her guide as they passed by. Robin decided then that she was with someone rather important. She would do her own recon later to find out who was really investigating her and Tharja. 

Speaking of names. “I’m sorry, I never got your name, sir.” Robin spoke up to him. 

“I’m called Libra,” he replied simply and Robin left it at that. 

She was led to a small study near the unused throne room of the castle. A row of White Capes stood at attention on either side of the door. There were so many, Robin couldn't help but to feel a tinge nervous. Two stepped forward and opened it as they approached. Inside, there was an oak desk with papers and inkwells scattered across its surface. 

“Please excuse the mess. Things like this call for mounds of paperwork,” Libra said from beside her as he came up to the chair before the desk and gestured for her to sit. 

“It’s alright. My desk in my dorm looks similar,” Robin said with a wry grin. 

Robin noticed another presence in the room. As the door closed behind her, she looked back at a single figure that stood statically in the corner whose face was shrouded from the hooded white robe they wore. From here, Robin noticed that the figure was shorter than her. The hands folded in front of them were gloved, the fabric white satin. On their chest, a silver pin glistened in the dull candlelight. It was the symbol of the Exalt. 

The reason for the extra security outside became obvious. Robin knew she couldn't allow herself to feel intimidated. This was all process and protocol that had nothing to do with her. 

The figure glanced up and Robin peeked up as she caught a glimpse of the face—feminine and fair skinned. Striking olive green eyes met her own brown ones. A gentle smile peeked out from the shawl of the robe. The hair she saw peeking out was a lively green. A general edge of unidentifiable unease settled into the pit of her stomach. Robin smiled reflexively out of politeness and went to take her seat as Libra sat with a sigh behind the desk. 

“Adept, do you know why you are here?” He began. 

If she wasn't in chains then this was just an interview. “I’ve heard a lot of buzz around the academy. You’re going to ask me about the climate of our school concerning the possible appearance of dark magic, yes?”

Libra nodded gravely and folded his fingers on the desk in front of him, the metal rattling sharply. “Yes, you are correct.”

“If I may be so bold as to ask, how are you so sure that it is truly dark magic that is being practiced here?” Robin inquired. She had to ask because she would have without knowing for sure that the Books of Grima were being practiced by students here. She was a hard skeptic, after all. 

“My organization specializes in ratting out this sort of thing. We know it when we see it.”

A generic answer. He was being careful. Rightfully so. She wanted to play this push and pull game and win. The challenge and adrenaline didn't hinder her clarity of caution. “I see. Then, please. What can I do to help?”

Libra nodded and sorted through a few papers. “First of all, have you noticed any strange behaviors, recurring extraneous coincidences, or any otherwise weird occurrences to your own person as of recent?”

There were about eight hundred students at this school and 41 instructors. Her and Tharja had hexed a little less than a third of the student body and faculty. It wouldn't be strange if she hadn't been targeted. “No, not as far as I know. Compared to some of my classmates, I think I’ve been unaffected by whatever blight is targeting them.”

Libra nodded gravely and fetched his quill pen and an inkwell and began to record her accounts.

With her excellent memory and perception, she would have easily noticed anything off about her classmates in spite of everything. She recalled by name and incident of the faculty and students she would likely be the most associated with in her classes and in her year when asked if she had noticed the happenings around the academy. She even mentioned Tharja and how she bit her knuckles to the point of drawing blood whenever she got nervous. It was true, but not within the happenings of a hex, not that she would know the difference as she feigned ignorance. 

A few select students had even brought it upon themselves to feign an affliction or habit for attention. Robin couldn't ask for them to make her job any easier, but they would be figured out as fakes eventually, if the investigations into every case got as deep as she was assuming. Convoluting the scene of the crime definitely did help in covering her and Tharja’s tracks. 

“You're smart, Adept. I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” Libra led into a different conversation. “You’re at the top of your class, you’re bright, talented, and you seem to cause very little trouble for anyone here at this academy. In fact, you cause so little trouble, you’ve managed to harvest quite a bit of envy from your classmates. You’re loved by your instructors and you have a promising career ahead of you. It’s all such a perfect cover if you decided to practice dark magic in your free time, don't you think?”

Robin tilted her head and quirked a brow, sensing the nature of the question as a carefully laid trap. Robin knew she had to work a degree of reverse psychology. She spoke confidently—unshaken. “I don't agree. I think those are exactly the reasons why I wouldn’t want to involve myself in something like that. I have a promising career ahead of me. It’s illegal to practice dark magic, of course, but there aren't enough hours in the day for me to feasibly pick up on something as reckless as that,” she said with a hint of planted annoyance. She would be offended if she was accused of anything, hypothetical or not. 

Libra ruffled through a stack of papers he had close by. “Perhaps you’re right. But everyone has their secrets. I just find it curious that your record seems so clean. Perfect, actually. Not even this institution knows very much about you or where you came from.”

Robin allowed herself to ease off a bit, not needing to fake the somber pit of loneliness within her that she had grown up with. It had been a while since she paid any attention to it. “Well, if they did know anything, then it would be much more than I know myself,” she said. “I’m an orphan. I don't think it’s unusual that I have nothing to show on my record. No magical family, no status, no riches. It makes for a boring profile to look at.”

“I think that makes you quite interesting, actually,” the voice from behind her said suddenly. It was airy and kind—a woman’s voice. 

Robin turned over her shoulder slowly, curious and a bit nervous that the mysterious woman had decided to speak up. “Does it?”

“It’s near impossible to move between classes in our society. Hard work and determination isn't always enough to be successful. It takes a real sense of ambition and talent to make it through as you have. It's practically unheard of, actually, what you have managed to do,” she said, her hands unfolding and folding back together in front of her. 

“I’ve been lucky. Being in Plegia’s capital, a center of culture and learning, helped. Also having a natural affinity to the magical arts was a blessing. I had access to a library in my early years and books helped to raise me. I knew I wanted admittance here by the age of 8 so I geared my whole life towards this. I wanted to make something of my situation and I didn't owe it to anyone but myself,” Robin explained. That was largely in part of the reason why she was able to do these things to her classmates. Having had most things handed to them in the sense of family, money, and connections, there was a sick sense of pleasure in seeing them struggle with her hexes. 

But right now, detailing her obstacles that she had overcome made it all the more believable that she wouldn't so easily throw this all away to pursue treason. At least, that is what Robin had calculated would be the outcome of her admitting to all of this. 

“I understand. You don't need pity or congratulations, so I have neither for you. Self-sufficiency is its own reward,” the woman said with a nod. She made a small noise, one of her hands raising to cover her mouth meekly. “Ah, I’m sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine. We’re nearly done here,” Libra sighed as he finished making his marks across his paper. “My Lady, have you any questions for Adept Robin?”

There was a thoughtful hum from underneath the hood. Then, she peeked up and rose her index finger. “Do you pray, Adept?”

Robin blinked. That was a question she hadn't expected in the least. “I’m not particularly pious. I know all there is to know about Naga, however.” Not to mention inklings of Grima’s religion. But even an inkling was more than most people knew and was grounds for ruthless prosecution. 

“All there is to know?” The woman repeated with a bit of amusement in her voice. 

Robin felt like she had to rethink her answer. It was a bit silly, what she had just said. She flushed a bit in embarrassment. She was as much of a know-it-all as she had played herself to be, but perhaps that was a bit much, considering how little she actually practiced Naga’s religion, if at all. “Ah… perhaps it's more accurate to say all that is written.”

“I see,” she murmured in response. Her hood angled towards Libra. “That is all I wanted to ask.”

Libra nodded. “Then one last question from me and you will be on your way.”

Robin was asked if she suspected anyone in particular that might be the culprit of this investigation. She honestly shared that she didn't know many people personally and said that she wasn't comfortable naming anyone since it was such a heavy accusation. Libra said understood and didn't pry further before dismissing her. 

Upon leaving, Robin gave one final look to the hooded woman before she nodded courteously and left without another word. 

When she was well away from the perimeter, she allowed herself a deep breath. The victory she felt was short lived as she calculated her next set of actions. She needed to make sure Tharja was prepared for the interview. She hadn't a clue as of how she would fare. While Robin trusted her to not give them away, Tharja had such an awful way of talking to people. Her nervous habits would probably paint her as enough of a victim to save her. 

They also needed to speak in depth about their precautions and plans to continue on in their co-opted treason. It would be foolish to skim over the topic any longer.

* * *

Class proved to be useful in creating a brief mental distraction. Her pen flying across her parchment was nigh therapeutic, no matter how dry the subject. 

Robin flipped her journal closed as the lecture wrapped up. She ran into Tharja in the corridors and beckoned for her to follow, which she did wordlessly. “Have you been interviewed yet? Almost everyone in my classes have.”

“Not yet. I’m sure I’m up soon. Perhaps they wanted to save the best for last.”

Robin hummed a one-note response. Tharja was an awful enough of a student that it would be hard imagining her performing magic outside of class, let alone dark magic. It was a very good cover. Robin wouldn't have believed that the same person who couldn't aim her fireballs at a target correctly could perform forgotten magic written in a nearly dead language. 

They headed to the west dorms and nonchalantly passed a group of students studying in the common room that turned their eyes to watch them curiously—invasively. When they were out of sight and up the stairs, Robin heaved an annoyed sigh. No one at this school could mind their own business. Not that she was without guilt of that, as well. 

Robin pulled her room door open for Tharja and clicked it closed behind her. She wondered if anyone cared enough about her to really be gossiping about her behind her back. Perhaps it just looked like Tharja was tacking onto her to get a better grade in class, as others have done without qualms with her before. It didn't seem so strange when she thought about it like that. She looked naïve, however—being used like that painted her as such and she wasn't sure how she felt about that. 

“There’s something I encountered at the interview that I don't believe I’ve heard anyone else talk about,” Robin started as she came up to her desk and placed her journal down on top of it. 

“Scary,” Tharja replied in a monotone as she helped herself up onto Robin’s bed and rolled onto her back. 

Robin continued, unperturbed. “There was a woman in the room. She was present during Director Verona’s assembly and I’ve seen her wandering around campus. She wears a pin of the Exalt’s symbol on her robe.”

“Gross.”

Her patience was running thin. “This is serious.”

Tharja rose a single brow. “I didn't say it wasn't.”

Robin sighed and sat down heavily into her armchair. “It’s safe to assume she’s a Ylissean official, but I know of no official that shrouds their identity when they make a visit to our country.”

“Maybe she’s hideous,” Tharja shrugged, staring up at the ceiling noncommittally. 

“I _really_ don’t think you’re taking this seriously.” Robin said as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Tharja groaned and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of her bed as she snatched up one of Robin’s pillows and hugged it close to her chest. “Why worry? How in their right mind are they going to find out about us? You think that because they have some secret weapon that we don’t have ours?”

Robin hesitated, her brows pulling together as she tried to dissect what Tharja was saying. She went to lean her chin onto her propped palm as her eyes pressed to interrogating slits. “... what do you mean by our ‘secret weapon’?”

Tharja turned to lay on her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. But there was no way that Robin was letting her talk herself around this.

“At this point in the game, the fact that you’re hiding things from me is a breeding ground for miscommunication and mistakes,” Robin warned in a dangerously calm voice, not feigning her determination to wriggle _something_ out of Tharja.

“I’m not hiding anything from you,” the muffled, weak reply came. 

Robin was unconvinced and irked. “Then tell me something I don’t know. Anything. And don’t be a smart ass.”

Tharja, with her arms still wrapped around her pillow, pushed up onto her forearms and lifted her head, looking ahead at nothing. “... I think we have help.”

A long moment passed as Robin took the information with a grain of salt. “Do you think or do you know? What makes you say that?”

“I think we have help,” Tharja repeated. “There are forces more at work than you and I or the White Capes and that woman. Forces beyond our mortal understanding. That much I am certain.”

“Forces?” Robin murmured, wracking her brain for some sort of correlation between the definitions of _forces._ There was social forces, physical forces, magical forces. Forces were invisible by definition. Intangible yet able to be influential. She thought over all angles of the situation—who the _us_ vs. _them_ included and how they were related. 

Robin remembered what the woman had asked her during the interview.

_Do you pray, Adept?_

There were also religious forces—pressure of religious expectations of behavior according to some doctrine of holy reverence. And of course, if the powers of the Gods were anything to consider as forces… but that was if the Gods existed at all. But Robin was a hard skeptic. She had yet to see anything that made her a believer of any god. 

And of course, whatever force that voice underneath Tharja's home belonged to… Robin suppressed a shiver at the thought. 

“No matter,” Robin sighed, knowing full well that they didn't have time to fool around with what ifs and forces or whatever other silly thing they had no control over. “We need to think of a plan. We’ve been dancing around the subject for a while. I have confidence in our ability to keep hidden, but should we become unveiled to the public as the true offenders of this mess, we can't be caught without a way to simply disappear.”

Tharja nodded, finally grasping onto some semblance of severity. “We could hide underground at my estate. Or if we needed to escape, there are tunnels that run deep in the earth that deposit outside of the city.” 

Robin sunk a bit in her chair in thought. She tapped on the end of her armrest in cadence with her ticking mind. “The rune of passage that you drew to access that place is ancient. Getting down there would be difficult for many mages at the academy, if not all. Not to mention the fact that I think the amount of people who are able to draw the symbol of Grima are in the single digits.” Eradicating the existence of an entire religion had its benefits, after all. “We would just need to be one step ahead of the investigation. We need to know what they discover before they discover it themselves to give ourselves time. The next thing we need is—”

“Money. Don't worry about it,” Tharja interrupted, looking down at her nails nonchalantly. 

Robin rose a brow. She still hadn't a clue as of how Tharja’s family had come into wealth. The other students that she had learned to look down upon came from similar backgrounds as Tharja, yet Tharja seemed at a total impasse to her heritage. Like she was using it for no reason other than to use it, never claiming it for more than what was convenient. Robin figured that if she wanted to really know more about Tharja, she’d have to do some digging. She wasn’t beyond sneaking around in student files, at this point.

Robin pressed on, knowing it would be ridiculous to be modest and refuse to take from the mound of fortune Tharja sat upon, especially if her life was on the line. “Then where do we go? I thought briefly about Valm.”

“That would be the obvious place to go, don't you think? What about to Ylisse?” Tharja shrugged. 

Tharja had a point. If she were an ancient authority trailing after criminals on the run, she would send horses to the seas and watch all cargo for stowaways going in and out of the country towards Valm without a second thought. It just came to show how little she had considered all of these possibilities before. It was due time to remedy that.

The thought of harboring up in Ylisse was as ironic as it was hilarious. Robin felt a grin trace her lips. “The Halidom of Ylisse, then? We could cross the Marmotord Desert of Regna Ferox, so it would be even less likely that they would think to send soldiers in pursuit there. It is considered a death sentence to travel through there, after all. And it would be easy to hide the magic in Ylisse. If it has been centuries since we have seen dark magic here in Plegia, then it is simply unheard of there...”

Robin thought briefly upon the absurdity of the whole situation. Could she really continue to practice dark magic after losing her position and hard work here? No matter, if she was caught, she had resigned herself to giving it all up and understood the weight of her actions. Her insatiable need to quell her boredom was every definition of destructive. Dark magic would be all she had left. And of course…

Robin’s eyes caught on the swaying of golden heels back and forth like two upside down pendulums. She supposed she wouldn't be without companionship for a minute. 

Could she ever find herself to hate Tharja for bringing her into this world? If she had lost everything, where would she turn her frustrations to if not to her? What would she feel or really think? Robin didn't think she would ever know the answer until she did. 

“So that’s it,” she decided. She didn't have time to dwell on her emotional state of a future that could possibly never come into fruition. “About your interview. You aren't too terribly talented at talking your way through most situations, am I correct in assuming that much about you?”

Tharja grinned dryly and shrugged one shoulder. “When are you ever wrong? Actions speak so much louder than words. But that’s just where I’ll have to play my cards.”

Robin figured as much. Tharja was a pain in the ass to talk to, especially about her personal life. But that could be grounds for trouble. “And if you seem overly noncompliant to the point of suspicion?”

“I don't think that will be a problem. I just have to act stupid enough to not be worth the time. I have the grades and will feel plenty inconvenienced to back up my piss poor attitude to give a headache to everyone within a league’s radius,” Tharja replied easily. She truly didn't seem perturbed. 

Robin was convinced that Tharja could pull that off, she trusted her enough. Tharja was many things and an idiot was not one of them. “Fine. The next step is dissecting the investigation and finding where they stand.” Robin wrapped her fingers around the ends of her armrests. “I wonder if we can find a useful hex to get us an inside man."

Tharja perked up, smirking as she rolled into her side, lazily pushing her cloak that draped over her hips behind her. She laughed darkly, the sound causing a flicker of amusement at Robin’s brow as her eyes casually scrolled the length of Tharja’s body. 

“I have just the one, dearest Robin,” she cooed.

* * *

Robin was spoon-deep into her stew when a small notebook plopped onto the table next to her. Her eyes flicked over and back forward as Tharja began to settle into the seat on the bench next to her.

“Have you ever kept a diary, Robin?” Tharja asked casually as she pushed the notebook towards her and leaned over the table to pull out a tea candle from one of the holders on the table.

Robin glanced down at the parchment of the front page. It was unmarked and relatively unused. She slid her stew to the side and took a wad of sourdough into her palm as she picked up the notebook. “No, I can’t say I have.”

Tharja scoffed and began stabbing into the candle with her nails, chipping off flakes from the wax. “I haven’t either. It’s such a stupid idea.”

There wasn’t need to humor a response as she parted the notebook open to the first page. The entries were minimal but allowed Robin to quickly figure out what it was. A smile traced her lips as she nodded and turned the page. “How did you get this?”

“Easy. Just needed a small bit of hair and a place in mind for the drops to be made,” Tharja replied evenly, entirely focused on destroying the candle she had in between her fingers.

A hum was all that answered her as Robin skimmed the pages. It was Tharja’s handwriting—sharp and wispy. It was an hour-by-hour personal account of a White Cape guard by the name of Marcello. It detailed from his thoughts to what his duties were for the day all the way down to the times he went to the water closet. Robin looked up languidly, making sure that no one was really bothering with them in the fairly busy dining hall. She looked back down to the paper and read off the last page, flipping it closed. “This will be helpful. How are you getting this information?” She asked before taking a bite of her bread.

Tharja adapted a smug look as she peeked up at her and looked back down to her candle, which was almost completely a pile of flakes. “He writes when he gets downtime. The impulse is just so strong, you know? He keeps a journal hidden from his friends because he’s afraid to be found out having something so ridiculous. So he stows it away in the pegasus stables behind the barracks at the end of the day before night patrol. I’ve been making copies of it so he doesn’t wonder why it grows legs and leaves its hiding spot when he goes to get it in the morning.”

“And if someone finds it?” Robin raised a brow as she took another bite.

Tharja laughed once under her breath. “Well... wouldn’t you want to hang yourself if someone found out you were keeping something embarrassing like this?”

Robin stopped mid-chew and squinted at Tharja.

There was pause as Tharja tried to let the dark humor of her question sink in, but Robin kept on staring holes into her. She rolled her eyes and shrugged one of her shoulders. “I’m kidding,” she spelled out every syllable with what could be read as heavy sarcasm. “He’s not going to _kill_ himself.”

“Tharja.”

“He’ll be fine. Who even cares?” Tharja said sharply, annoyed as she slipped the notebook back towards her.

Robin sighed and shook her head. There was no getting through to her. She should have known better when she entrusted the task of obtaining an inside man to her weirdly sadistic partner. “Anyway. I want you to destroy these notes. We can’t risk there being copies. If you’re sure you know the times he’s going to leave them and you won’t be figured out, then we’ll have to make due with reading them ourselves and deciding what to do next.”

“As you wish,” Tharja muttered and set the notebook aflame there and then with a flick of her fingers. She leaned back at watched with a lifeless expression as the paper crumpled into frail black ashes and the fire burned out. 

Robin watched with a furrow at her brow but didn’t move otherwise. That wasn’t the strangest thing she’s seen from Tharja by far and it definitely wasn’t the weirdest thing that has happened in this mess hall. No one around them really seemed to care.

The tell-tale clanks of armor and boots echoed throughout the room, silencing the quiet and amiable conversation of the mess hall. Shadows fell over their backs and Robin gave Tharja a quick look before glancing over her shoulder. 

Libra stood with a blank expression as he bowed his head politely. “Adept Robin. Adept Tharja. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon to you, too,” Robin greeted back automatically. Tharja scowled and didn’t bother to turn around as she gathered the ashes of the notebook, trying to seem too busy to participate in the formalities. 

“To what pleasure do we owe the visit?” Robin asked next, already knowing the answer was one of two things—more than likely the one that didn’t involve them walking away in shackles.

“I’m here for Adept Tharja,” he replied, eyeing the back of her black long hair with a slightly raised brow.

Tharja rolled her eyes and sighed raggedly as she crushed the bits of burnt paper together beneath her palms. “There isn’t anyone else you can interview first?”

If Libra was annoyed by her sourness, he didn’t show it. “You’re of the last on the list, Adept.”

Tharja heaved a second sigh and looked over her shoulder, shooting daggers at Libra and his White Cape company. Robin wanted to hide her face away at the scene that was being made.

“Will it take long? I’m awfully _busy_ ,” Tharja spat the last word as she continued to make a fine powder out of the mess in between her fingers.

At that, Libra adapted what could be called a bit of a grimace as he looked over at the candle flakes and burnt paper on the table. “No... it shouldn’t take very long at all.”

Robin gave Tharja her most unamused stare. That seemed to rouse her as she heaved yet another sigh and bolted to stand. 

“It better take less than five minutes,” Tharja grumbled as she whipped her cloak around her once she stepped out from behind the bench. 

“It takes about five minutes to walk to my desk,” Libra said evenly as he gestured out ahead for her to take after the White Capes that turned and began to march away. 

“Then it better take six minutes.”

“I’m afraid it’ll have to be just a bit longer than that.”

Robin watched them all disappear from the mess hall, the loud display of Tharja’s disdain unmissed by the students who leaned in to each other, snickering and laughing. 

Robin faced back forward and slid her lukewarm stew in front of her. 

The seat across from her clattered with a new body and Robin waited to gather a decent spoonful of her soup and ate it before she paid any attention to it.

It was Henry, smiling cryptically as he usually did. Robin felt her spine tickle uncomfortably. “Robin! Hello, hello!”

Robin nodded in acknowledgement, her eyes catching on the folder he had tucked into his side. She hated having to resort to this, but she couldn’t afford to be in places she didn’t have an immediately explanation for. “Greetings, Henry. You have what I’ve asked for?”

He giggled and slipped the folder out from his arm and slid it towards her. He leaned forward with an air of secrecy, though his expression remained frozen in a smile as his voice lowered. “I sure do! It took a lot of my excellent charm to wiggle this out of the bookkeeper’s hands, but no one will miss it!” He said excitedly.

Robin grinned wryly and angled the folder in front of her. It was rather thin. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from it, but maybe she hadn’t much to uncover, after all. After one quick peek inside to make sure it was what she wanted, she nodded and placed it into her lap. “Thank you. Now, what was it you wanted in return?”

“Oh, nothing!” Henry shrugged both of his shoulders and sighed wistfully. “You know, Robin, you’re just so incredibly smart, you could be the only person in the world who can truly give me what I want, but I don’t know if I really want to know the answer to this question I have...”

Robin chose to ignore the praise. She felt like she was being softened up for something ridiculous he was about to ask. “You want to waste your favor in return on a question you’re not sure you want to know the answer to? Surely, there are other things you can think to ask of me that would be well worth your while?” Robin asked, keeping face as she looked down to play with her soup.

Henry giggled and shook his head. “Oh, the answer to this question would pale in comparison to any material thing you could provide for me.”

“Is it really a question only I can answer?” Robin glanced up and rested her silver spoon on the lip of her bowl.

“It really is! I have such a strong feeling of certainty!” Henry clapped his hands together and Robin knew she was started to convey the impatience she tried to hide away in her furrowed brows. “Just promise to answer it honestly.”

“Then let’s not dance around the subject. What is your question, your one free favor from me for doing as I have asked?”

Henry shivered in excitement and leaned far forward onto the table. Robin found herself leaning forward as well, bowing her head to meet the level of how low it was he reached.

The question came as a whisper, the playfulness that was present giving nothing away as he asked: “Do you know who’s practicing the magic of Grima at our academy?”

Robin blinked and leaned back, positive that she saw a glint of red that was his eyes before they were veiled again by his wide smile.

She never really agreed to answer truthfully. She could easily dance around the subject by saying no, but there’s a strange lag in her wired response that created an interesting dilemma for her. Henry wasn’t a fool. She wouldn’t have asked him to take care of this task if she knew he was incapable of going about things in a similar manner that she would do herself. She also didn’t doubt that he was one of the few students on this campus to keep the answer to himself. He was an enigma, much like Tharja, whom very little knew about, but that also meant the degree of secrecy that he was trained on had to be similar. Maybe he took pleasure in knowing things others didn’t, just like her. He also used Grima’s name without hesitation, a thing most individuals weren't capable of. Robin’s interest was piqued. 

She couldn’t believe she was really considering answering the question honestly. But she didn’t feel endangered to humor him. He said it, himself, that no thing would be as satisfying as knowing the answer to this question that she undoubtedly knew the answer to. Why would he be uncertain about knowing the answer, however? All she could think of was the longing she would have had had she not been dragged into the magic by Tharja herself—the sore feeling of having been excluded from something so interesting.

“Before I answer,” she started, knowing that she didn’t want to fall into such a trap without knowing all angles of the situation. “Why do you reserve that question for me and me alone? I won’t accept the explanation that you believe I am smart to be sufficient.”

Henry hummed and crossed his arms in front of him. “I can’t entirely say. I could willy nilly ask anyone, but there is this gut feeling that’s like nails in my stomach that I need to ask you this. Let’s say it’s for my health! From anyone else, I wouldn’t believe their answer for a second because it doesn’t mean anything to me and I wouldn’t be able to get rid of this feeling! But from you, it will hold weight. That’s all I can explain.”

Robin leaned her cheek on her palm and tapped her temple thoughtfully. She sat there for a long moment with Henry smiling over at her, patient as undisturbed oil. Robin began to clean up her space, pulling her trash and as much of Tharja’s trash as she could gather together. She placed her cup and silverware onto her tray last with the folder shoved under her arm. Henry didn’t budge as he head followed her movements unassumingly.

She made to walk away before she paused, glancing back over her shoulder at him. He didn’t seem at all perturbed by her seeming noncompliance. It was like he knew just exactly what she was doing. 

“I do,” Robin divulged.

Henry straightened up slowly. One gust of laughter sounded from him, looking more like a cough than anything else with the way his body tenses and relaxes. Then another gust. And another. The laughing strings together and increases in volume as if she had told the funniest joke human ears could ascertain. She just grinned and turned away. The rest of the mess hall fell deathly quiet, the echo of her boot steps filling the space in between Henry’s fit. As she emptied her tray and crossed out of the black marble pillars of the entrance, Henry was still laughing up a full blown storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are... this chapter was working up to be 16k words so i stopped at the half waypoint before the real exciting stuff happened. i promise a big plot twist in the next one, for sure!
> 
> can i just say i am absolutley in awe and so humbled by the comments i have gotten for this fic? i don't think i've ever had a following that was so perceptive, engaged, and thoughtful. thank you so much. no matter how little you have to say, it helps every bit in helping me push this out. thank you again and i'll see you in the next one.


	5. Chapter 5

For a profile so thin and nondescript with scores of redacted information, there were clauses that aggravated more worry in Robin than she knew how to immediately deal with. 

Robin couldn't follow the logic of the facts stated on the crisp sheets of paper. But she knew enough out of context to believe the integrity of the statements as truth despite the outlandish reports within the profile. These weren't documents forged to trick anyone, after all—they were mostly useless save for a tool used for tracking recorded criminal history and other personal marks that were side by side with recommendations and other merits for acceptance into this institution. Robin didn't doubt for a second that whoever reviewed this profile for admission, however, had no choice but to accept the applicant immediately due to the very first few lines of the biography.

The lone letter of recommendation in the profile was sparse and impersonal with a handful of generic sentences. If the biography didn't sell the applicant, then the wax stamp at the end of the recommendation did. Robin pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, still trying to piece together the missing bits of information that she couldn't even begin to have a clue about. 

This was an unexpected stress that Robin didn't know how to tackle. It was daunting, and she felt an edge of betrayal at the fact that she hadn't been privy to any of these important facts upon asking repeatedly. But there was nothing for her to do about it, now. What was done was done. She just needed to figure out about how to recover from such an unforeseen setback and continue like usual. She didn't even know the use of confronting these problems head on without being met with similar roadblocks as she had experienced before. 

Robin stood from her desk, turning to pace thoughtfully back and forth in her dimly lit dorm room. 

Perhaps it was time to start winding down and to lay low until she knew how to approach these problems carefully. The thought of retiring the Books for a short while caused a pit despair to tangle in her chest, but continuing as if what she had read had nothing to do with her endeavors would be as dangerous as it was foolish. 

She supposed there were upsides to her predicament but it was hard to tell if that would be exactly the case, considering the strange tenseness she knew existed between the two parties at question. She felt like she hardly knew who she was dealing with anymore. But she didn't really know what to begin with. Robin must have seemed so naïve. She hated the feeling as much as she hated being lied to. Though there was a supposed good reason, that didn’t stave the hurt that she felt.

She sighed and cleared her desk of everything—a daunting task. It helped to keep her mind occupied from intrusive thoughts of a vengeful and unnecessary counterattack to defend her wounded pride. Instead of something so obviously reckless, she would have to play along for her own personal gains in order to figure out more pieces to this puzzle. 

Robin drew her velvet curtains over her room windows, blocking out the evening sun’s dying rays. The darkness in the room was short-lived as breathy purple magic whirled around her fingertips. She drew a hovering circle over the surface of the rich cedar oak of her desk. Her photographic memory served her well as she recalled the intricacies of ancient and powerful runes. She didn’t know of a particular hex that combined these runes in such a manner, but with her understanding of the nature of dark magic, it wasn’t hard to compile it to perform exactly how she wanted it to. 

A slight gust of wind picked up and flowed through her room as the workings of the magic began to feed off of her energy—the energy of her wounded pride. 

She didn’t want to be made a fool out of any longer. That was understandable, wasn’t it? It had happened time and time again with people she thought she could trust who ended up being selfishly motivated. The people at this school were rotten and they didn’t have any good reason to be. She just needed to make sure it didn’t happen any more, now that she had the tools to protect herself from such embarrassment. She drew in the last hovering rune to the hex and begrudgingly turned towards her bed as the magic continued to concoct its lovely curse. She squatted down and ruffled the sheets around, her eyes scanning the deep purple fabrics intensely, straining her eyes in the dark.

She smirked without feeling and reached out, grabbing onto something invisible between her thumb and forefinger. Robin straightened up and brought the thing to eye level—a single, long strand of dark black hair. She turned her attention back to the circle and dropped it into the center. The hair shrivelled up like a fuse quickly burning from end to end, meeting in the middle as it disintegrated into nothing. She wrinkled her nose at the smell it left behind—like one would expect of burning hair—and dug her nails into the pads of her thumbs one by one at her sides methodically. Then she flicked her wrist, sending one final shock of violet magic into the circle before it dispersed and sizzled out.

Robin sighed, hating to have resorted to something that felt so awfully secretive, especially in a practice where secrets could get her killed. 

“Let’s see what else you're hiding, Tharja.”

\--

Robin boredly wrote in her notebook, the drone of the professor’s voice carrying over the lecture hall as ambiance rather than something to be grasped as vital information. A quick look around at what she could see of the mostly empty front row seats revealed equally as bored students who weren’t as good as hiding it as she was. She tapped on her temple and sunk her chin farther onto her propped palm, dragging her eyes over to stare at the poor chalk illustrations on the board the professor drew up on how to read the skies for an incoming sandstorm when traversing the desert.

At the corner of her eye, a wisp of white caught her attention. She glanced over towards the double doors of the entrance to the lecture hall, just barely able to catch the disappearance of a familiar cloaked figure passing by the peek windows.

Robin lifted her head from her palm and closed her notebook. She slid down the bench of the seat and stood, the clatter of her noisy uniform parts and boots causing every pair of eyes in the room to naturally fall over to her. She pattered out wordlessly, receiving no grief from the professor because if she as an excelling student had to leave, then it must have been important and excusable.

The halls were politely populated for this time of day, making it easier for Robin to follow nonchalantly after the cloaked woman without sounding out of place. 

Her gait was proper and poise, the clicking of her heels on marble floor easy to keep track of. She was unaccompanied, much to Robin’s confusion, but she just seemed to be taking an aimless, leisurely stroll, complete with thoughtful gazing at some of the commemorative statues and art pieces on campus. 

The woman was unperturbed to the curious looks she received from the students she passed. She was wildly out of place, after all. Robin grew bored of tailing her and wondered if she should give up this farce before she was discovered.

Robin kept to it, however, following the cloaked woman until she wandered from the main campus building and out to the bluffs that flanked a majority of the castle. Robin was unable to follow her out closely due to the lack of cover underneath the intense Plegian sun. She considered heading inside to get a better vantage point since the woman didn’t seem like she would be moving anytime soon from the patch of earth she decided to commandeer for a leisurely resting place.

Robin sighed and leaned discreetly against a far-off archway. She opened her notebook, squinting towards the woman who was just barely in her view before she brought her eyes over the notes she had been writing in class—completely unrelated to the lecture, but pertaining to brewing certain concentrations of plants since her curiosity had been piqued at the apothecary’s tools she had seen underneath Tharja’s manor. 

A few minutes ticked by with Robin glancing over every once and awhile at the woman who sat motionless in the sun. “You can’t sunbathe with a cloak on, so why don’t you take the hood off already?” She quietly mused to herself.

Another handful of minutes passed with no developments.

Then, the woman laid down onto her side and was motionless.

Robin stared in surprise. She leaned off of the cold brick behind her and strained to see any movements from her, but none came. Ten minutes must have passed as she looked out into the afternoon sun, waiting for something to happen.

There was no way she was... ? It wouldn’t be suspicious if she just happened to come across her and checked up on her, right?

Robin closed her notebook and trotted over, trying to keep her steps as quiet as she could manage. When she was just two feet behind the woman, she stopped, having failed to ruse her this far and waiting to test the air for what would happen next. The woman didn’t budge at all from where she laid, an arm curled underneath her head and her knees tucked close to her body. Robin heard the steady rhythm of her breathing and saw the slight rise and fall of her chest. She now had no doubt in her mind that the woman was completely knocked out.

It took a moment for Robin to collect herself in order to prevent the burst of laughter that wanted to escape from her lips, for surely there were better places for an Ylissean official to rest. She rounded the woman quietly, intrigued as she bent over to try and get a better look at her person.

Her robe was slightly ajar, revealing a silken white V-neck dress, accented with gold embroidery. One arm was bent in front of her, brass bracers carved to appear like scales clasped onto her wrist. Robin waited for movement before she squatted down.

She recalled what Libra had referred to her as. She must have been titled, so it was a courtesy she should adapt, as well. “My Lady?” She asked softly, not loud enough to rouse her, but loud enough to test just how deeply she was asleep. 

No response.

Robin’s palms itched curiously. She leaned forward towards the hood, grabbing the edge of it and pulling it up noiselessly, but not pulling it off completely. She saw the familiar green hair and fair skin that she had glimpsed before. Her eyes followed the edge of her jawline and Robin froze in her movements. 

Her ears. They were elongated—unlike anything she had ever seen. Anything she had seen in person, that was. Old paintings and fairy tales were more like what she had seen this particular feature represented in.

Green hair and long, pointed ears. Of course. She was a spitting image of Naga—or at least of how she was depicted in her humanoid guise in every illustration and ancient account she had read. That meant this woman was quite possibly a manakete—a dragon. Robin wondered if there really were Gods that created creatures such as this. 

Robin drew her hand in slowly, fully realized dread clogging her stomach. So that's why she masqueraded about hiding her face. Such creatures were thought to be myth. It all made sense, now. A secret weapon. 

This new information was a nightmare for her. If she was a part of the investigation to find her out, then things were undoubtedly tilted against her. Manaketes were said to be creatures of extraordinary power. She hadn't a clue as of what she was up against. She could only gather so much concrete truth from fables and books about their capabilities. 

Robin stood slowly, her hands trembling. There was real fear, being faced with a reality such as this. 

She could now place where she had heard the familiar tune of her voice before. Down in the library, she was the one of the people present who had found their secret study room. 

With a quick look around at her surroundings, Robin realized that they were alone. She bit the inside of her lip as a ridiculous thought came into her head. 

Killing her here would be insurmountably foolish. The possible witnesses, the time of day, everything in between. She usually had more sound plans on the spot, frustrated with her incompetency to find an outcome in her favor. Instead, she would have to plant herself some insurance. She had to think ahead to a time that didn’t yet exist and be prepared for anything.

The one thing she could do here and now was take a sample of her hair. Not wanting to risk pulling one out of her head, she took on long strand that fell in front of her face, holding her breath to steady her hands as she snapped off a sizeable strand of it noiselessly.

Then, all she could do was step away and hope by the time her footfalls were far enough away, the manakete would still be sleeping.

\--

“Did you know?”

All four legs of the chair Tharja leaned back into clanked against the floor. “Know what?” She asked in an even tone, not looking up from her nails she was inspecting. 

“About the cloaked woman. The one who won't show her face around the academy,” Robin clarified and closed her notebook before tossing it down into the bed haphazardly. She leaned onto the bedpost and faced Tharja, her arms crossing over her chest. She was fidgety. She couldn't concentrate on her studying. 

“And what about her?” Tharja inquired over her shoulder. 

“She isn't human. Did you know?” Robin tried to feign nonchalance as she came over to the side of Tharja's desk—even messier than her own, if at all possible. She leaned back against it, palms flat on the edge of the wood as she eyed her. 

“Hm. No, I didn't. Is she a dog? Dogs of the Exalt travel far and wide on _her_ whim,” she replied dryly.

Robin’s eyes caught on the way one of Tharja’s nails subtly dug into the pad of her thumb. Robin tapped the table with one of her fingers once. “She’s a manakete.”

Tharja laughed sarcastically. “And my father is a taguel.”

She understood the absurdity of the statement. But Robin needed to work this conversation in her favor. “You don't believe me?” She tilted her head into the question, knowing that she was putting Tharja on the spot. 

And how she recoiled guiltily, her face contorting as if she had just tasted something sour. Tharja sighed raggedly and continued to mess with her nails. “You more so than anyone else in this putrid place.”

“Well, that's good. Perhaps sooner rather than later, you can begin to grasp the direness of the situation. But it’s your choice, Tharja. What will it be? Sooner or later?” Robin asked with a straight face, though her tone was demeaning as if she was talking to a child. Tharja had become so comfortable with her, she needed to start to correct some of the negative feedback of that familiarity. As much as they were friends, they were still confidants in a very serious crime that needed a lot of care and attention. 

Tharja sighed in defeat. “Apologies. It’s habit to be difficult,” she muttered before turning her chin up to her. At least she knew. “What do we do?”

“You said something a couple days ago about how they had their secret weapon but we also have ours…” Robin started, her eyes boring back into Tharja’s. 

“Yes, I did…” The way Tharja averted her eyes uncomfortably and the way she shrunk back was lost to Robin. 

“Please, Tharja. What aren't you telling me?” Robin asked in a faint voice, that familiar knot of betrayal tugging at her heart. She wasn't sure what else to do. Why wouldn't she talk? Why?

“I… I pray, sometimes.”

She hadn't expected Tharja to be the religious type. But, the fear of having her decide against sharing kept her quiet as her breath caught. 

“And sometimes… I’m rewarded,” Tharja continued carefully. 

Robin crouched down slowly onto the balls of her feet, her hands sliding onto either of Tharja’s knees for balance as well as a gesture of comfort as she looked up to her. This was pertinent information. “Rewarded?” She encouraged gently. 

“With secrets. Places for us to practice our magic. With help,” Tharja said under her breath, her knees bumping into each other a bit as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

A slow-churning realization began in her stomach. It was a realization of disbelief and fear, if it was what she thought. But how could it be real?

“When you pray…” she started, the words dying off of her tongue as she tried to gather her thoughts. “You’re not praying to Naga,” she said as concrete fact. She knew this. “Who, then?”

Finally, Tharja's eyes slid down to meet her own. She felt trapped in place at the intensity she treated her with. Cold fingers slid over her own as Tharja leaned forward, her voice dipping low as a faint but twisted smile twitched at her lips and disappeared. “Of course, my Lord Grima,” she murmured. 

Robin stared in awe, a cold seeping dread falling in her stomach like rocks. There was no way. “When I asked you if you practiced the religion of Grima, you said no.”

“You had just met me. The way you asked was also very uninviting to the truth. There wasn't ever time for me to paint myself as Grimleal in the right light,” she whispered, gauging her for her reactions. 

She had been lying since the very beginning, then. 

“It’s not right,” Robin managed through a disbelieving, derisive laugh, feeling like she was going mad. Why did she ever believe anything she said? This wasn't harmless. This was danger. Real, tangible danger. 

“You're really still on about what is right and wrong, dear Robin? Surely you've realized long ago that we are already teetering with forces that are irrevocably wrong. Some would even call them evil.” Tharja was unperturbed, unshaken by the fact that she had come to talk about this sort of thing.

“But I’m not an evil person. I know the difference…” Robin whispered, absolutely sure of this. She could be good and do wrong without becoming evil. 

“I wouldn't call myself evil, either. And contrary to what you believe, Grima’s religion isn't evil, either. It’s just a different way—the wrong way, as it has been decided by those before us. Aren't those your own words?”

Robin shook her head idly. Of course they were her words. “None of this explains… how.”

“How…?” Tharja echoed. 

“The gods… how? What's the rational explanation to all of this? How do you know these things, really?”

Tharja looked as though she didn’t understand her confusion. “My dreams. He calls to me in my dreams and tells me what I need to know and when I wake up, I use His help to guide my steps.”

Robin thought of the night terrors. The things they did to her body—no doubt an enabler to her restlessness, to her irritability and anxiety. The voice Robin had heard, as well… a “god” speaking directly to her, just as he spoke to Tharja. If she felt insatiable horror at the few words she had glimpsed from what was possibly the fell dragon, she could only imagine the madness and mental degradation of hearing him talk to her regularly. 

This was all rubbing her the wrong way. She didn't want the aid of any god at her back, guiding her hand, whispering brutal and unholy things to her. A god that she feared the idea of, real or not. She didn't want any of this. 

“You see? We aren't alone, Robin,” Tharja said with such ease, Robin felt like she had to wretch out the sour, metallic taste that flooded her tongue. 

She stood abruptly, all intentions set on leaving. Her hand was snatched by Tharja and Robin had half a mind to wrench out of the hold, but she hesitated, looking straight out to her bedroom door. 

“Robin… I can understand if you’re frightened,” Tharja whispered.

“Terrified,” she corrected under her breath. 

Tharja drew more of her arm into her grasp as she stood, hugging it close as she pressed her forehead into her shoulder. “Please stay,” she said, the words slightly muffled. 

“I don't… I don't know about this. I don't want a part of this. This isn't what I agreed to.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you sorry?” Robin asked, incredulous. “How could you be? You knew exactly what you were dragging me into, did you not?” She snapped, looking back to her with an edge of fury born from frustration in her voice. 

“I didn't know He would reach out to you, as well, if that's what bothers you. He just told me you would help me… He told me who you are…”

Robin froze, her eyes widening as she turned her gaze back to Tharja. “Who I am?”

Tharja nodded and brought a hand up her arm, cupping Robin’s cheek. “Dark magic runs in your blood, Robin. And being so close to you makes every fiber of my body vibrate because no one else possesses the power that you do. You were meant for this path because you were born into it as a direct descendent of Grima’s original practitioners—in the flesh.”

“L-let go. I don't… there's no way you know what you're talking about. How dare you toy with me so,” Robin spat, recoiling out of fear of the unknown more than she was out of anger towards being manipulated.

“It's true, Robin. This is a fate neither you nor I have the power to resist.”

Robin laughed. The sound was staccato and humorless. “I am my own person. I have my own agency. I chose this path and I can walk off of it if I please.”

“You would abandon our practice…? You would abandon me?” Tharja gripped tighter onto her arm, the first tendrils of fear sinking into her neutral expression.

“What part of this doesn’t scream danger to you?” Robin whispered with the roaring heat of her denial and anger as she wrenched away from Tharja’s touch, causing Tharja to flinch and curl her fingers hard into the palms of her hands as she brought her arms in to hold herself. 

“At what point do you see past the screen of smoke that is your willful ignorance and understand that we are toying with powers beyond our understanding, completely alone save for you and I and whatever god you claim is at your shoulder? What do you hope to accomplish or gain? Why do you want to continue to do this?”

“I need to. It’s my calling as much as it is yours. We need to do this. Yes, there are powers at work here beyond our mortal comprehension, but we truly aren’t alone. Lord Grima has been protecting us from the beginning. From our births. Please, Robin. I can speak all I can about fate and destiny until I am raw in the throat, hoarse from begging you to stay on this path with me but that does not change the fact that you need this. Right now, we aren’t just practicing forbidden magic.”

Robin turned back towards the door, not wanting to hear any more of this. Tharja scrambled in front of her, grabbing onto the cloth of her robe by the handfuls desperately. 

“Robin. Robin, listen... We need to think bigger. We can’t bring this unrealized with us to the grave. There’s something more for you—for us. There’s more to this world these academy spires—than the battlefield, than Gods and manaketes and monsters,” Tharja talked feverishly as Robin pushed forward, Tharja walking backwards with her, refusing to free her as she stumbled back, her arms smashed in between them. Robin walked her all the way into the closed door, pressing Tharja full against it as she reached for the doorknob, her eyes refusing to meet any part of Tharja’s face. “We need to realize and build on this. Please Robin, it can’t stop here—it can’t die. I need you. I can’t do this alone.”

Robin gripped the cast iron handle of the door, eyeing it intensely as she remained soundless, all her movements stopped.

This was no game any longer. Those files she had Henry fetch for her irked feelings of doubt inside of her. Even still, there were things Tharja was hiding from her, regardless of how much was in the open now. 

The nerve, to claim fate as some overarching, indomitable force neither of them could help. No amount of talking fate could have ever earned her merits for her. No destiny could have pushed her to study and work as hard as she had till splitting headaches throbbed behind her dry eyes as she conquered towers of tomes late into the night as an adolescent. The strain of using magic untrained and burning herself with the backlash of her wildly unpracticed spells had earned her scars of hard work and dedication that she wore proudly. That was her—all her. 

But perhaps that was just it. Robin was top of her class—a prodigy. The best of the best, unchallenged amongst her peers. Yet, she had only ever been taken advantage of. She was used as a study partner like a quick fuck and discarded to the side when she was no longer useful to her rotten, jealous classmates. Maybe it was fear in a last ditch attempt to try and knock her down into place. She hated that. She wanted recognition and respect.

The call of Grima’s magic was as alluring as it was dangerous. No doubt, as an infamous dark mage, she would get every bit of respect she desired. She would be respected as much as she was feared. But there was a clear flaw in that plan. Her life here that she had earned would have to be abandoned, lest scores of armies be ready to chain and execute her. Even Grima was felled by a mortal, as the tale goes. She would be a criminal on the run for the rest of her life, should she pursue that ambition and notoriety. She knew this—the thoughts and dreams consumed her in her every moment of rest. 

How foolishly exciting that all sounded—too foolish for a mediocre magician. But Robin knew she was no simpleton. How vain could she be, fancying an idea such as being untouchable, above everyone else?

Robin was slightly taken aback at how likely that was. It was useless for her to practice this magic if she couldn't show it—couldn't exercise it, flaunt it. She could be wickedly vain, it so seemed. 

Perhaps it was coincidence how she thought of Henry again, laughing out his lungs in the dining hall at her shoulder. Maybe they didn't have to be alone against the White Capes. The hexes, the secret rendezvous between her and Tharja, the charades she played with Libra and his force. She thought to the journal from their inside man. She thought back to the bit of mint green hair tacked onto the underside of her bedroom desk—her insurance. 

Robin scoffed after a long and tense silence. How silly of her. This was never about practicing forbidden magic for fun in the shadows. The fact that this was no longer a game was false. It had always been a game and Robin had reflexively made her moves towards winning. And the lone win condition was living while this knowledge coalesced in her brain, striking down those who would endanger that condition. It was then that she realized invincibility was victory. Being in these academy walls was like moving around in a trap that was ready to spring. That was no way to live if she wanted to continue doing this.

Yes, it was exciting to have such truths unfold themselves in the workings of her mind. Robin looked to Tharja, to her trembling hands and her knuckles white from her vice grip at her robe. The intense pleading in her eyes, the glint of something dark in their depths, and the red burning her usually colorless face painted Tharja like a desperate prey animal wanting desperately for her to devour her there and then. 

There was no doubting that Robin needed Tharja. She was an asset—a talented, connected, and powerful one. She would use her like such, then.

Robin’s heart ached. She had lost a friend somewhere along the way, it appeared. But there was more at stake here. There had to be something more to gain, though there was a pathetic hope that she could regain that friendship in the future. 

Robin had never stopped being naive, even now. Her hand fell off of the door handle and Tharja’s eyes flicked down to the meager movement. Robin calculated her next move carefully, feeling disgusting as she slowly constructed the repertoire of behavior she would have to adapt to get what she wanted out of her partner in crime.

And then, she set out in motion. Robin stepped a smidge closer to Tharja, already backed as far into the door she could go. Her front pressed hard against her as she leaned down, planting her hands on either side of the door, effectively locking her in. 

Tharja didn’t flinch, her breath catching in her throat as Robin, with an expression of cold indifference, lowered her mouth to her ear, brushing slightly against her black hair. Every inch of Tharja’s body tensed.

“I need you to understand something,” she started, tone low and even as she stared ahead at the dark wood of the door. “I need no god and I work for no god. You, however,” Robin gave pause, knowing the weight of her words as she said them. “You will become mine to command as a liege commands her retainer. If this is to become any more complex, I need you to follow my every order to its extreme. Your secrets are mine. Your strengths—your body are to be mine.”

“It will be as you say.” Tharja swallowed hard, her bottom lip subtly drawing in between her teeth as she sighed shakily out of her nose.

“Tharja, I want it in blood. You should know as well as any Grimleal sorceress that promises in blood are the only promises worth shouldering,” Robin whispered, sinking closer to her ear and sliding a hand from the door through Tharja’s hair. Her lips brushed the shell of her ear and she felt Tharja shiver and roll her hips forward into hers.

“You want a promise in blood, then it is blood I will give you,” Tharja replied huskily. “I’ll gladly spill every drop of it, if it would please you.”

“You’re of no use to me dead.” Robin laughed without humor, the sound brief and lifeless. Yes, this is what she wanted, wasn’t it? Robin felt like she was a foreigner in her own body; as if she was looking over her own shoulder as a puppet master performing deeds she would condemn whilst it was still her hands that engineered and maneuvered those awful strings.

A blood descendent of the first dark mages… if it was as Tharja claimed to know in absolute truth, then she would use it to her advantage to get what she wanted no matter the sickening assassination of her character. 

What would even be left of her—of Robin the orphan, the learned—if she continued this power hungry charade? The most frightening thought was that perhaps she had been coddling these vices her entire life if she had it in her to play the part.

“ _Useth mine body ‘til mine last moment. ‘Til I am no more, at your side I’ll be_ ,” Tharja breathed, the syllables beautifully weaved yet harshly spoken as she expected of Plegian. 

Robin paused, a conflict of hurt and an invasive sense of longing ripping her heart in two. She stayed very still, listening for any hint of movement. So close to Tharja, all she could hear was that her breath had picked up, her hands still fastened impossibly tight in her robe, shaking from the force and her muscles even spasming from the duration of such an intense physical action.

“In blood,” Robin repeated emptily and lingered at Tharja's ear before she eased back, Tharja’s hands loosening their death grip on her clothes. 

Robin turned away, her expression unreadable as she went to lounge tiredly in front of the empty fireplace, sinking deep into the loveseat there with a sigh as Tharja rummaged for something in the mess of her desk. 

Not a minute later, Tharja was before her, the glimmer of metal in the low light catching Robin’s eyes. 

Robin remained motionless as Tharja turned her palm up before her and drew a skinny blade across the meat of her hand. Through her hiss of pain, she smiled crookedly, the corners of her eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

As blood wept from the wound, coursing and lively, Robin watched steadily, her throat tight as she swallowed past the awful sensation of choking at such an unhesitantly ruthless display. The tap, tap, tap of dripping blood hitting the hardwood floor made Robin’s eyes twitch with every one. Hot salt coated her tongue and she felt nauseous as she summoned the magic to mind with a flick of her fingers—magic that was ancient, buried deep in the Books of Grima that were more binding than any mortal contract.

A web of complex, floating purple symbols engulfed the glistening beads of blood, hissing red and white like a small firecracker before disintegrating into nothing but the smell of burning iron. 

It was a binding hex—a hex akin to the one that Grima made his first followers seal their loyalty with, though no human mage can replicate the extent of that original magic, since it bound by blood every born Grimleal in the world. The subtleties of that particular hex, in Robin’s readings, were unknown. If anything, the notion of the hex was more ceremonial than for naught—though there was one thing for certain upon signing this contract. In her lifetime, if Tharja were to dedicate herself in blood to any other person in a similar manner as she does now, immediate death would seize her upon the letting of that blood.

Such contracts were important in days of conquest and rivalries amongst dark magi. With the promise of a God’s terrible power beyond a mortal’s wildest dreams at the palm of the Grimleal’s hands and the whispers of that ancient God driving most of them mad, anxieties ran rampant in their twisted minds. These contracts were made out of necessity for security—one could never be betrayed if their selected servants broke their swears and attempted to bind themselves to another, for it was known that such a binding pact resulted in sheer death. It was also a sure way to rat out other Grimleal loyalties and their followers if the pact was refused for self-preservation. That was, until the Grimleal were united in bitter peace under the Theocracy of Plegia.

The fact that Tharja has done something so willingly speaks itself over about how she dedicates herself to Robin. Though Robin isn’t left in confidence if there will ever be another opportunity for Tharja to dedicate herself, the way she cuts into her skin, however revolting, was crucial in Robin’s understanding of how Tharja thinks.

Robin sits still as Tharja clenches onto her palm, her face flush as if alit from a drunken stupor. Even now, Robin didn’t understand her. She didn’t understand this cult—the supposed long dead Grimleal. 

“Grima. Why does he meddle with our world? Why does he care about us?” Robin asked, her insatiable curiosity at the forefront of her mind as she dismisses the magic, leaving them in the heavy low light of the quarters. 

“I cannot speak for my Lord Grima.” Tharja replied with a devout bow of her head, clutching her bloody hand close to her chest. “He does as He pleases. He helps as He pleases. I could never claim to understand why He does as He does.”

Robin was not pleased by the answer.

“I heard what you may refer to as Grima here.” Robin gestured to the fireplace, skin prickling at the memory. Back then, Tharja had been trying to tell her that Grima spoke to her, too, she realized. “Something about death. In his name.”

Tharja looked up to Robin with a profound _excitement_. “My Lord Grima is vicious, it doesn’t surprise me that His voice echoes something so brutal…this magic inevitably brings us closer to Him.”

Robin hummed, realizing she didn’t like the way Tharja continually referred to Grima so reverently. “What is it like when he speaks to you?” 

“The night terrors,” Tharja grinned. “I didn’t used to have so many, but since I have started working with you, He visits me almost regularly. It’s a restless sleep, when He visits me.”

Tharja reached out fluidly, her bloody hand planting on the armrest next to Robin as she eased down onto her knees, leaning forward into her lap. Robin didn’t move. “He coddles me close and tells me He is protecting me. He curses the weakling Naga and tells me He will not let her touch us.

“He tells me what He wishes for me to know—though He is cryptic, He rewards me for solving His riddles. He rewards me for my loyalty—my Lord Grima is brutal even in this way, the way He loves. 

“He bites so feverishly and hooks His claws deep into my skin. It’s so real, I can taste the blood on my tongue when He sinks His teeth into my lips. He is jagged when He enters me and I can no longer tell where my body ends and His starts. I feel nauseous and it’s suffocating. His shadows falls all around me and I can’t see past the binds of His embrace that gouge out my eyes. He rips me to shreds and builds me back up again.”

Robin was cold with surmounting disbelief as Tharja eased her head to rest in her lap as a tired, enchanted child would. This was wrong. So, so wrong. “He _rapes_ you? Kills you?” She breathed out. 

Tharja shook her head from her lap. “I welcome every touch from my Lord. I ask Him to rend my mortal flesh so that I may be closer to Him. I wake with bruises and know that He is really watching me. I enjoy every second of my Lord Grima’s rewards. He has so much praise to give because there is so few of us and I _love_ it.”

It came as no surprise, but it was no less incredible that Robin had finally put a finite understanding to the fact that Tharja was absolutely, completely mad. 

Robin can’t fathom such unconditional loyalty to something horrible like that. “You really believe it’s a _god_ that does this to you?” She whispered her question, appalled. 

“I believe with every fiber of my being.”

If Robin struggled to grasp the weight of the insanity she had delved into before practicing this magic, she had no doubts now. In spite of what she knew, it was a mystery whether or not she would tell a much younger, more naive version of herself to completely steer clear of such a sickly, twisted path. 

“And if I told you to denounce your god?” Robin pressed.

That seemed to take Tharja out of her elevated state of thought, sobering her up. “I couldn’t.”

“What if I told you I wanted to kill him?” Robin tested the thought on her lips as she threaded her fingers through Tharja’s bangs absent-mindedly.

Tharja shivered as a catlike grin curled her lips up. She leaned into the touch, eyes lidded heavily. ”Why?”

“Because he’s revolting.”

Tharja shifted up, weight leaning into Robin’s lap. “Is this jealousy that ails you?”

Robin purses her lips together, the small motion catching Tharja’s violet eyes. “Don’t be so assumptious. It’s frustrating. You have been capable of this devoutness all along yet I have fought with you, push and pull, to get to the grit of the secrets you hold from me, still.”

“I am an open book to you now that you know that I am Grimleal.”

Robin has always wanted to know her family—where she came from, who she was. But it is a cruel fate that has brought Tharja to her for that reason, an even crueler irony that Tharja seemed to only be drawn to her for that reason. 

Robin wondered if she preferred Tharja to be like the others she had dared grow close with—her kindness had been taken advantage of time and time again so that others may use her smarts for their own gains. Perhaps that was a less painful truth that Robin tried to tell herself she didn’t mind. It didn’t hurt as much as this did—being admired because of _what_ she was instead of _who_. At least Robin could help who she decided to be. 

“Then let us act like it. Starting with how you still lie to me.”

Tharja registered the severity of her words slowly. Her lips parted and twitched into a grimace and it was gone in an instant. “... I don't know what you're talking about.”

“The hex I performed on you. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” Robin gestured down to Tharja’s hands with her eyes. “The urge to itch at your thumb when you lie, so uncontrollable an urge I imagine it is.”

Tharja didn’t seem at all so shocked at the reveal. In fact, she seemed amused as she drew her nails over the curve of her thumb. “I thought it a strange new habit.”

“How is the identity of your mother being Magister Verona herself so insignificant to you that you neglected to admit that to me on numerous occasions? Why did I have to go and dig in your file to figure out these things for myself?” Robin asked, expression unchanging.

There was pause as Tharja leaned back off of her lap. “I haven’t underestimated you, my good Robin. I figured you would find out sooner or later. Our peers don’t live as lavishly as this unless they are born into politics,” Tharja gestured with a sweep of her eyes over her quarters.

The director’s daughter… the faculty must have known, which was why she remained mostly impervious to their discipline while she slacked. The students—their peers—had to be clueless. It was better that way.

Tharja paused for a long moment. Then, “She is no mother to me. I feel no love for her. The only thing I can do in rebellion is to denounce her existence. I lie to protect myself from her having sway over me.” 

Robin looked down to Tharja’s hands and waited for a second—long enough to see that there was no movement. 

Tharja was so childlike. A youth caught between the desire for attention and the inevitable rebellion of a neglected soul. 

The sharpness in Robin’s voice faded. “Why do you hate her?” 

“It doesn't matter,” Tharja shot back, suddenly defensive. “None of that matters. She doesn’t matter. She is clueless to what happens here—to what happens to me on a daily basis.” Tharja spat as she withdrew completely, turning away to finally tend to her wounded palm. 

“How can you be sure of that?” Robin pressed. 

“Because I know as little about her as she does me. We are strangers under the same roof. She is married to her work—more married than she is to my father.”

Robin can’t understand why that was a bad thing. Marriage was marriage. Work was more important in her eyes, but she didn’t comment further. She was learning so much about Tharja today—welcomed or not, new things they were. 

“You’re a direct connection to the powers that work against us. Isn’t there anything you can get out of her?” 

Tharja sighed her displeasure. “I couldn’t. Not without raising suspicion if I asked her. I don’t talk to her.”

Robin pinched the bridge of her nose out of frustration. If she knew her mother, she wouldn’t be this difficult with her. But she can’t pretend to understand. “There must be something about this situation that can prove beneficial to us.”

“Hm… I have a small idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay... so, it takes me forever to write for this. that’s established. i cut this chapter in half from the 16k word monster it was because i keep adding things and being continually unhappy with it and :/. i ended up pushing the exciting stuff to next chapter and the fic will hit an E rating for the content in it 100%. (as in porn. you’ll never guess between who. i promise it will be in the next one.)
> 
> i need to figure out how to progress this easier and plan better is what it is...writing this stresses me out tbh but i’m not giving up. 
> 
> i have no clue how people post regular updates.... blows my mind. maybe one day that’ll be me. jsdjjd  
> thanks for following this far and apologizes for the fuckin impossibly spread out updates.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple things about this chapter and the troubles of posting an ongoing, unfinished project: a lot of the times i’m stuck with exposition and telling rather than showing, a big no no in writing that i know i’m doing and i’m unhappy with. i can go back and change earlier chapters for future readers so that the narrative reads better, but i think that relies on the story being finished. and knowing me, i’ve never finished a writing project, and most of my projects end up being SUPER ambitious, so who knows if that’ll ever happen. my hope for this fic is that even if i don’t get to complete this, it can stand alone as its own experience and hits all the points that i wanted it to originally, even if there is no conclusion. 
> 
> and that brings me to my first big point i wanted to deliver. this chapter has been in the works as the hooking main idea that i’ve built this whole fic around. so hopefully it’s as exciting as i think it is. and if you’re reading this, you really care, so thank you for that! i can’t be more grateful to those who have suffered through these long updates. 
> 
> there is a rating bump. i also hope i don’t turn anyone off to the idea that this fic was originally intended to be really porny (though, honestly, i didn’t actually plan to write a masturbation scene in an earlier chapter. sometimes, these characters write themselves) hopefully the world and story until now has caught your attention so that if that isn’t your cup of tea, you are interested enough to keep reading for those reasons. so, here we go! enjoy.

Thanks to their inside man’s journal, Robin and Tharja were very familiar with the White Cape’s patrol schedule. 

Well after curfew late into the night, the both of them moved through the castle. 

Robin took the lead, Tharja acting as a shadow to her as they skirted corridors and hid under archways and behind pillars, listening for movement every turn of the way. She never once let her guard down, not even after ascending flights of creaking stair wells and twisting through seemingly abandoned corridors of old. 

“Castle Plegia had once housed the high priests, the prophet kings, and the royal families of the past,” Robin noted quietly as they passed through impossibly dusty rooms of torn banners and emptied shelves, her palm alit with a small yellow flame. “There must be some remnants of them left here if these places are untouched.”

“They renovated the dining hall, the classrooms, the courtyards, and the servant bunks that act as the dormitories now... it wouldn’t have been any more difficult for them to repurpose these spaces,” Tharja agreed lowly. 

Robin hummed in response. “It’s also forbidden to be here. There must be a reason.”

“Ugh, the acrid stench of moth balls and age-old dirt would be enough to keep me away normally.”

Grimacing, Robin was inclined to agree, but kept quiet. Complaining wouldn’t help her any. 

The crackling of the ember in her palm and their footfalls was all that answered their endeavors thus far. It truly was like a run down museum, caked in debris of a long gone war left to the rats and spiders.

A cold sensation like claws grazing the back of Robin’s neck stopped her suddenly in her boots. Tharja nearly ran into her, though no protest came as the both of them fell into a deathly still silence. 

Familiar echoes whispered in her ears, so faint and far off yet so hideous, her stomach was already clenched in anticipation. Had it been the first time, she would have most certainly been swayed away from here in fear, but now, her curiosity was impossible to quell without knowing of its source.

“Do you hear that?” Robin murmured and looked back over her shoulder. 

Tharja nodded, a twist of terrible excitement at her lips. “He calls. What shall we do?”

The look Tharja gave her left little room to explore more options with her. Robin sighed, wanting to itch out the skin of her neck if it meant getting rid of that awful feeling. “I’m starting to have an inkling as of why these floors are forbidden.”

“You know, the history books say the Exalt’s army killed Plegia’s last prophet king in the siege for this castle, but the Grimleal will tell you that he killed himself before they could get to him.”

“Quaint,” Robin said, too casual for hearing what Tharja considered a _god_ talking to her. “So you mean to say that these halls might be cursed with that dark energy?”

“It would explain why it has remained untouched—these whispers would turn anyone mad, after all.”

“And you listen to them on the daily. Which raises the question; are _you_ mad?” Robin shot back, knowing well what the thought personally. 

“Gods, I hope I am,” Tharja scoffed. “At least that’s some excitement—a luxury most Plegians seem to have forfeited.”

Robin didn’t humor a response. The volume of the whispers grew as they delved deeper into the fray. Robin couldn’t clearly discern what they were saying and attempting to focus on them only made a dull ache begin to nest in her temples. 

Double doors as tall as the ceilings towered before them, ornate and carved with skilled artisan hands. Some of the patterning and motifs were forcibly scratched away, a remnant of this craft that no longer existed. Still, there were eyes that peeked out from the gouges in the wood, bleeding and seeking—eyes that Robin recognized well. 

The whispers were right against her ears now, sickeningly enticing as if the source of the voices knew she needed coaxing along here. She still didn’t understand what they were saying, but she doubted their benevolence. 

Robin would not let herself be influenced, however. She was doing this for her curiosity. Not because it was suddenly normal to hear voices and follow them.

The door was locked when Robin tried the brass knob and she stepped aside wordlessly as she gestured for Tharja to proceed. 

Tharja unveiled a ring of keys, snatched from where she knew they laid safe in Magister Verona’s study at their shared mansion home. Robin kept watch as Tharja tried key after key. She wished she could do anything to drown out the growling and cooing in her ears, sinister as it were. 

The whispers completely stopped when the door parted open and Robin breathed out a sigh of relief. But the ache in her temples remained. 

They drew inside to a suite of decaying furniture and ceiling high windows. The moon kissed down on velvety carpet that had long since lost its shimmer through mistreated glass balcony windows.

“Is your god still talking to you?” Robin asked, truly disinterested as she scanned the walls and ducked her head to look into drawers she pulled open. 

Tharja shrugged one of her shoulders and slunk into the shadows of the room, eyes searching. “Not anymore.”

Robin sighed and the both of them searched in silence. 

She pushed open a pair of light doors into another room that looked like a dressing room, the dirty length of a three-part mirror reflecting back her focused expression. Robin thought she looked older than she had last recalled. She wanted to dwell in front of it, but she didn’t want Tharja to think she cared much for her appearance, strange as that was. 

She rounded the mirror and Tharja entered the room after her, but they found nothing of interest throughout. 

That was until they entered another space that must have one been very grand—in its prime upkeep, its decadence would have easily surpassed that of Tharja’s personal sleeping quarters, with much of the same furnishings but fixed in pure golds and brilliant royal violets that somehow held their beauty in spite of their age. 

“Seems fit for a king, doesn’t it?” Robin asked with a bit of a smirk. 

Tharja hummed, one note and low. “Seems fine.”

Something dark stained the carpet on the side of the bed. Robin found herself on her knee, inspecting it closer. “Blood. Extremely old,” she noted, mostly to herself, since Tharja was busy taking apart drawers and shelves.

She got down to floor level, seeing the direction of the blood and the specks left behind, trying to build an understanding of how this mark was made. 

A glimmer in the corner of her eye caught her attention and even in the low light, Robin could glimpse a shifting plane of pure moonlight like a twinkling star underneath the bed. 

It was curious and Robin made to reach for it, but it was well past her arm length and tucked against the wall and the base of the bed’s headboard, mostly hidden. 

Robin sat up from the floor and rolled her shoulders. “Help me with this.”

Tharja turned from where she was disturbing the curtains and approached. “The bed?”

“Help me pull it out.”

A minute later, with the furniture moved away from the wall and the both of them both embarrassingly winded, Robin reached down and pulled out something cool to the touch and faceted. 

She held it up in the moonlight, amazed at the size and beauty of it the thing. It was a cut gem the size of her entire hand. It was a gorgeous, deep inky purple hue that was very nearly black. Robin could swear she saw purple swirl around like a fog inside of the facets as of it were hollow, but when she focused on the center of the gem, it was totally still. 

“A rock… curious,” Tharja said. 

“Look at the size of it. I can’t imagine what this thing is worth. Have you ever seen anything like it?” Robin asked, turning it in her palm again and again. 

“I haven’t… not anything that big. And it’s too dark to be an amethyst.”

Robin can’t stop looking at the fine surface of the sharp facets, intrigued by their complex design. “I’ll have to conduct some research, then.”

She pocketed the heavy gem and after another half hour of searching, they were fruitless to further finds. 

The main door to the quarters clicked shut behind them and Tharja reengaged the lock. 

Rattling like bones falling across the floor made Robin whip around, eyes searching through the dark. Out of caution, she pulled up her hood over her eyes. Tharja did the same with hers. Boot foot falls hit her ears and her pulse seized up all the way to her throat. 

“We were followed,” Tharja muttered, shuffling tensely. “I didn’t hear a thing before.”

“Indeed,” Robin breathed before tilting her chin up, still as the realized just how close those footfalls were. She projected out, willing away her guiltiness—she hadn’t quite been caught red-handed, after all. “Show yourself, then.”

The clatter of uniform parts and boots filled the void of the dark and a spark of fire burned to life from seemingly nowhere. Illuminated before them was another mage—a student, judging by the simplicity of the uniform braids. Robin looked up to the face of the figure and she hissed out a sigh, a mix of relief and annoyance. 

“Fancy seeing you both here!” Henry exuded nothing but irksome confidence as if he hadn’t caught the both of them somewhere far off the grid. 

“I’ll kill this idiot,” Tharja gritted out. Robin noticed the subtle crack of purple lightning at her fingertips. 

But she wouldn’t act. Not without her say. “Calm down,” Robin urged and though she felt her heart pound all the way in her palms, she feigned her ease as convincingly as she could as she stepped in front of her. 

Robin looked over to Henry with even eyes from the brim of her hood. “What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” He asked back, unperturbed as he leaned forward. 

Robin kept her tone neutral. “We can answers questions with questions all night. You first.”

Henry hummed thoughtfully and shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “I just felt like I had to be here!”

“Is that so,” Robin deadpanned, taking a page out of Tharja’s book. 

“But truth be told, I wanted to figure out something for myself.” Henry divulged and his smile stretched wider. 

“That being?”

“If Grima is watching or not,” he said so nonchalantly, it had Robin’s head spinning.

“It’s treason to mention his name,” she responded curtly. 

“Aww, Robin! I’m not that dumb. Maybe you think people around you aren’t as smart as you, but give me that much.”

A stab of hurt bored its way into her chest as she stepped forward. “I never said anything like—“

Henry interrupted her. “Hey, it’s also treason to practice dark magic, isn’t it?”

The unmistakable knowing in his voice caused a note of doom to strike all way to her spine as her eyes widened. She let the tendrils of her fear begin to fuel the purple sparks that went off at her own fingertips. “It is.”

If Henry noticed her break in facade, he didn’t show it. “I was just checking, Robin. I trust you, after all! Buuuut I dunno about her!” Henry gestured with a loose hand to Tharja, who sneered at him. “Which is why I wanted to knock out two robins with one stone! Nya ha ha!” 

Robin grimaced and wiped her hand on her robe like she would do if her hand was damp, snuffing out the sparks. “What are you talking about?”

Henry promptly exacerbated the situation. “I gave the White Capes an anonymous tip that the culprits they’ve been looking for will commune with Grima tonight in this very wing of the castle! They should be getting the hint at abouuut… oh, I don’t know—now?” 

Robin felt her stomach sink to her boots, heavy with dread. 

“Shoot… unless the culprits really aren’t you and I’ve just made a grave error. Whoops! Haha!” Henry slapped his palm into his forehead. 

Tharja hissed, sharp and cutting. “You’re a dead man walking.”

Henry laughed. “And you’re mostly talk, right? I REALLY don’t have time for _that_.”

Robin put up her arm to prevent Tharja from pushing past her, shooting her a warning glance. 

“So, can you get yourself out of this one? If you do, I’ll know for sure she isn’t dragging you down. I’ll maybe even join you, if I figure out it’s really you two practicing Grima’s magic! One stone!”

Bile rose hot in Robin’s throat. She should kill him—she couldn’t ignore the overhanging threat of him _knowing_ , but what choice had she now? How _dare_ he, after all—as if her reputation didn’t proceed her, as if anyone would dare play with her life as he so effortlessly had. Henry wasn’t a fool, but she was currently reconsidering that sentiment. 

She looked to Tharja, whose violet eyes were dead set on him—a viper ready to strike, should she so command. Yes, Robin didn’t even have to do it by her own hand...

But she couldn’t. That wasn’t her. It just wasn’t.

So she ran, snatching Tharja’s wrist and feeling a crackle of electricity shoot up her arm that fed into her surmounting adrenaline. 

Henry shouted after them. “Ta-ta! I really, really hope you don’t get caught and die! Though it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen a public execution, we’re long overdue for one!”

They rushed down the stairs in the dark, retracing their steps, the noise of rustling chain and armor funneling through the halls, sounding far off but _everywhere_. 

There was no use in relying on the patrol schedules, now. Robin had to start thinking on her feet and though the pressure of getting caught loomed above her, she just _needed_ to be as quick in of wits as she had been in the Basin. 

Though there wasn’t time to set traps, they had the element of time on their side. They maybe had a few seconds—thirty or so, judging by how far away they sounded and if they were lucky. But that was an eternity right now. 

She weaved back through halls they had passed earlier on, realizing quickly that their thirty second window of leighway was steadfast closing in on them. They made a break hard for a sharp corner as Robin glimpsed the cringing of armor on her ears. 

Stamina and cardio aren’t either of their strong suits. They didn’t hit the corner soon enough. Robin wouldn’t fail to calculate that aspect of their escape again. 

“There! I think I saw someone over there!”

With a glimpse at them and the inevitable long corridors ahead, they couldn’t outrun a group of soldiers—that much was obvious. 

Their lone chance to lose them loomed ahead in the form of the gargantuan library doors. Robin pulled Tharja inside without a second thought. 

Every turn around the aisles of shelves was a chaotic blur. Robin’s recollection of every turn and corner of the layout was suddenly so vivid as she took right and right to a left and up stairs and down. The pursuing rustling of chain and the clapping of armored boots matched the rhythm of her frantically beating heart as they raced down aisle after aisle. 

“Split up! Cover more ground! Go, go!” A voice commanded, a clear note over the storm. 

They ducked low, hearts pounding as they took shelter behind a wall of half-bookcases. Robin’s lungs scream at her for rest from the vigor of her running, but she pressed on. They didn’t dare stand at their full height for fear of being seen even from the bannisters above, but at least now, they had shaken them off enough to have stealth on their side. 

She led Tharja to a tall window in the corner, tucked away behind a series of towering shelves that absorbed the moonlight. They could easily jump out of it. This was it. 

To her surprise, a pursuing White Cape closed in, the light of the clanking lantern he held a blinding beacon as he turned the corner and stopped, his mouth parting as the whites of his eyes shined. 

They made eye contact and Robin’s world screeched from a thundering race to a complete stop. Even with her hood up, she couldn’t risk him knowing who she was. 

But lightning was too loud—too visible. It would be perfect if the lot of them were here before them, but being spread out has its advantages and they couldn’t lose their only leverage right now—anonymity and stealth. The light alone would give away their position and close out their chances for escape. She had no choice now as what she needed to do became obvious. 

Without waiting another beat, Robin lashed out with sharp, thick whips of purple magic, the momentum of the power quickly tumbling out of her complete control. She felt like her heart clogged her throat as she leaped to constrict the man’s mouth with the gripping vine, choking his warning shout down in the hollow of his neck. 

His lantern tumbled to the floor, the ungodly glow of the vines alive with her fear as they began to crush the man. Robin felt every pop of his joints beneath her fingertips as he struggled and fought, his throaty, muffled screams escalating like the scratchy cry of a dying animal. He was getting too loud. 

A sliver of cold energy tickled her palms and her eyes widened, her breath halting in her burning lungs as she reached forward with both hands extended, materializing a purple cloud of magic from the vines that snuffed out the glow of the lantern.

The cloud surrounded the man, pulsing with black energy. The magic no longer twisted with her fear. In a moment of clarity as she thought past the adrenaline thundering through her veins, she realized that it was _his_ fear now that fed the spell. He was afraid. Uncertain, terrified, confused. She could feel his sinking realization that these were his final moments. 

The screams wasted away as he fell to his knees, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Robin felt every thread of his soul pull taut, stretch, and snap as he began to fade to unconsciousness with every second the vines sucked out his life essence. 

This is what it must have been like to be a God, playing with the threads of life holding every human up. The decision to preserve the life or take it was suddenly so immediately available.

There was no describing the unadulterated warmth of pleasure she let the energies between her fingertips as she absorbed the man’s living soul fibers into the starving cloud of purple magic. Her face—her whole body—began to burn as she panted in quick, short puffs, a twisted smile she didn't know she adapted tracing her lips. 

She softened the grasp of the vines around his neck, his mouth parting as he took in a desperate breath of the purple mist and coughed, returning fleetingly to consciousness. She took pleasure in the way his relief strained her hold on the magic, challenging her in that moment with the risk of losing the fuel of the spell. However, in a second, she was crushing his throat again and the initial sensation of that disgustingly alluring radiation of his fear returned anew. 

The magic throbbed angrily, his skin losing all of its color and vacuuming tight against every bone in his body. His eyeballs sunk into his skull and his lips shriveled up, his youthful complexion wrinkling. 

Then, the mist shot back towards her, the suddenness jarring as the discordant crack of his life expiring ended the condition of the spell. The body fell to the side with a hollow thump. The magic, a frenzied blur of purple light, hit her and her body drank it in an instant. Her eyes fluttered to close, an overpowering energy igniting the tinder of her soul and making something out of the nothing she usually felt inside, lifting her up to an elated bliss that she had never experienced before. If the warmth she felt enacting the spell before was intense, then this was pure nirvana. 

Robin stilled her hands, her chest heaving and her heart pounding. She felt unbelievably hot, like she was burning up a deathly fever. She opened her eyes and turned slowly, her arms falling to her sides in what felt like slow motion. She felt as though she had complete control over every single nerve in her entire body.

Tharja’s thrilled violet eyes met her cool and even red ones. A beat passed as the sizzle of the air crackled and died down into nothing, static disturbing the hairs on the back of her neck. Their panting drowned out the chorus of the distant pattering footsteps.

Robin shoved Tharja against the bookcase behind her. Tharja’s expression was aglow in drunken awe as the wind was knocked out of her. Robin crashed her lips roughly into hers, the response near immediate. Tharja’s mouth parted and her fingers curled greedily into the back of her head, forcing her closer as their teeth clacked briefly. Robin sloppily worked her tongue against the other’s, one of her thighs jerking between Tharja’s legs harshly, eliciting a shaky whine from her that was muffled by her mouth. Tharja’s weight almost completely pressed down onto her thigh and she trembled as she grinded once on it. Robin chuckled without sound. 

She didn't have a clue what she was doing. Or why. Or even how this had all happened or what happened exactly or what was real and what was a fantastical nightmarish dream. All she knew was that she had just lit the cold coals of an addiction that she would never be able to quench again. But nothing had ever felt so liberating in her entire life. 

Robin fastened onto Tharja’s bottom lip and she bit down _hard_ , blood welling in between her teeth and coating the tip of her tongue. The moan that spilled out of Tharja's mouth kissed her nose and sent a twist of arousal to her already aflamed core. Against every better rational thought running through her mind, she knew she wanted to take her right here and now. 

“Robin,” Tharja sighed as she dipped down to lick up the salty trail of blood that had trickled down her chin. Robin grabbed a handful of her long black hair at the base of her scalp, tugging to the side as she shoved her face into her neck, all teeth and aggression and furious want. She felt Tharja roll her hips down onto her thigh and a choked moan vibrated against her mouth. 

“By _Grima_ , Robin,” Tharja managed again, voice thick with heavy desire. Her pants for breath caught and shot up an octave as Robin wrenched her thigh between her legs again, her head bumping back against the shelf as she scrambled to stay on her own two feet. “Robin… _ah_ —Gods, _Robin_ ,” Tharja husked, laughter weak on her words as Robin began to tug off the cloak covering her shoulders. “We have to go. We have to go right now. _Robin_.”

Robin slowed in her relentless assertion, placing a hot open-mouthed kiss against the juncture of Tharja’s neck and shoulder, the clattering of boots echoing off of the shelves sobering her up a bit. 

But did they need to run when she felt this in control? This empowered? She felt like she could take on anyone. Everyone. Everything. That one man was nothing compared to what she could do—what she _wanted_ to do. 

The hands gripping the back of her head found her cheeks and she eased back, her now brown eyes meeting Tharja’s own violet ones. “Robin, they're coming. We have to get out of here,” Tharja begged against her lips, her heavily lidded eyes and flushed face and the lustful drawl of her voice betraying her words. “It feels good, doesn't it? We’ll have this again, I promise. But we must go. We have to leave.”

Reaches of common sense broke through to her. They did need to go. Robin stumbled back a few steps and Tharja’s back slid down the shelf a bit, her palms planting to catch herself sloppily as the weight that was supporting her completely disappeared. 

Robin shot a glance at the body, panting as she tried to measure out what there was to do. She didn't want to leave it here. But they had little choice with the claps of armor that closed into their location gradually. 

Robin stepped up onto the window sill and peeked down at the hard-packed earth below. It was a two story drop and there was no time to fashion something to climb down with. 

Robin’s mind work quick circles as she pulled Tharja’s body flush against her own. “Hold on,” she breathed to her, the surprise evident in Tharja’s violet eyes as she threw her arms around her and clung onto her tight without question. 

They jumped, the feeling of freefall in her stomach dull in comparison to the high that Robin was still riding from the spell. Her hair whipped behind her, the bellow of her cloak tangling tightly against Tharja’s. She outstretched a palm and summoned a wall of wind in underneath her. If she were standing, wind this powerful would normally blast her back off of her feet, but here, it was a cradle that brought them gently down, cushioning them from the hard fall. 

There was no time for relief as they fell the last few inches to the floor and kicked off of the dirt. Robin knew they had to return to her dorm. They would be sweeping tonight to see who wasn't in bed and unaccounted for, without a doubt. The chase wasn't over yet. But they could beat them. 

From above, Robin could see torchlight dart through the corridors. Her and Tharja hugged the outside walls to stay out of view from the oppressive windows above. 

They entered the quiet kitchen at the bottom floor of her building after running clear through a series of courtyards, every step carefully planned and executed. They dodged through the common rooms and went up a dark flight of stairs opposite to the one that she was sure the White Capes have already climbed on the other side of the floor. The chaos of the chase was indeed rummaging through in a domino effect down the halls that had students opening doors and looking out curiously and sleepily. 

Robin could see White Capes crawling around every space of the hall followed by the glow of their seeking lanterns as they entered room after room. They were close, but there were plenty of students already out on their feet complaining and demanding to know what was going on to slow them down. 

Robin put her steady hands on her door and entered her key as she pushed through shoulder first, dragging Tharja in behind her. They were both panting and the slab of wood between them slid discreetly closed and amplified the sound of their desperate gulps for air. The commotion outside was muted but still gradually nearing. 

Robin engaged the lock and sprung to action after a beat. She threw off her coat and pulled her pinstripe shirt over her head, the clatter joining her boots as she kicked them off and gave Tharja a sharp look. She was staring dumbly after her but understood soon enough that she had to ditch her clothes, as well. 

The floor became a mess of uniform parts as Robin listened for the thud of hurried steps outside. They were so close. She threw the mysterious gem into a drawer and shut it aptly. 

She turned to Tharja and threw her in her bed while she was halfway through unclipping the back of her uniform garment. Tharja was flustered, her whole face a deep blush as she panted and scrambled into the sheets. Robin crawled after her and undid the rest of the clasp on Tharja’s back before shucking down her ridiculous uniform, mesh fabric and all, down to her waist. 

Tharja grabbed handfuls of sheets and pressed them against her naked chest as Robin hurriedly shuffled back to her feet. 

Banging at the door caused both of their attentions to snap over. “With the authority of the Exalt, open this door!” The voice on the other side boomed. 

Robin threw off her smallclothes and shouldered on a night robe hanging by the door as she fumbled with disengaging the lock, the sound of it stalling the other side as she tightened the band to close the velvety flaps of her robe and pulled the handle. 

She had adjusted to the dark of her room quickly and the blinding spill of lantern light that flooded the space caused her to squint as she was shoved away from the door that was forced open. She had half a mind to fight it because she just felt like she could but she stepped back with little reaction. 

Robin’s back had hit the wall as a line of White Capes started in with a tall, serious-faced man at the lead when suddenly, the sound of armor crashing into armor, grating and ugly, filled her ears. Robin didn't even flinch. After a few more blinks, she could watch despite the dull pain that stabbed her eyes. She caught sight of Libra standing at the doorway holding a folder that he scribbled furiously on. 

“Oh uh—” The lead White Cape man mumbled uncertainly. After the lot of them glanced around at the room, they quickly lost interest as their faces lit up redder than a rose and they averted their gazes. 

“C-Captain Frederick! It’s clear here, sir!” A soldier insisted. 

Robin scrolled her own eyes over the lit room. It was incriminating, but not in the way they were hoping for. Tharja managed to sprawl herself out on her bed in such a way that was unabashedly, unapologetically scandalous the way she was tangled in her sheets with just enough skin peeking out to allow little room for the imagination to fill in the rest of the feigned story here. 

“W-we have to keep going. Hurry up, you lot!” The man called Frederick shouted as he began to move back through the line. Robin noticed his eyes linger on her, apologetic. She slowly fixed her robe that had come askew from the shoving as she eyed back. She can't form any sort of emotion as they file back out and into the hall. Her eyes tried to follow too many details—their armor was polished, their hands on the hilts of their swords at their sides, the way their capes flow, the sweat on their brows, the wild look of confusion in their eyes, the fatigue in their expressions. 

She could see Libra follow close behind after them but he hesitated with his back to her as she came up and grabbed the door, her every nerve buzzing. The light fled away and the shadows the other White Capes casted drowned out her indecency and framed him in a halo of light. 

“Adept Robin,” he said distractedly, catching her attention. 

She nodded. “Yes?”

“It seems as though Adept Tharja is on campus and accounted for, after all,” he murmured before angling towards her. He tucked away a pocket watch into a flap at his breast and stared down at the floor out of respect for her state of undress as the others banged on the next door. “I apologize for the ruse.”

“There’s trouble, isn't there?” She said softly and leaned into the question, shielding most of her body with the frame of the doorway. She missed the note of curiosity she meant to instill into the words. “No matter. It’s of little inconvenience to me as long as you are able to get to the bottom of this soon.” 

“Right,” Libra sighed and remained there for a long moment. Just as she thought he might continue on, a glow of soft light unlike the harsh fire she was used to was birthed from his fingertips. 

One of Robin’s brows twitched and she squinted but she kept face as she watched, her inquiry as of what he was doing getting caught in her throat. 

He looked down to the floor and there were a few circles of something dark that dotted across the deep earthy tile. The two of them seemed to realize their presence at the same time. Robin remained still as he came to kneel down next to the spots. He placed his folder in between his arm and side and tugged off an armored glove. 

He swiped two pads of his fingers across one of the spots and turned them up into his light. 

It was deep red like fresh blood. Robin tilted her head and leaned off of the doorway. 

“... Have a good night, Adept Robin.” Libra said as he came to stand, testing the consistency of the liquid in between his fingers as he turned without another word, his eyes drawn down to what she realized was a small series of similar spots trailing down the hall. 

She closed the door slowly and redid the lock, an inkling of a suspicion riding on her thoughts as she stared blankly at the wood. What she didn't want to be true right now would make her a believer of the Gods if it wasn't what she thought. She turned wordlessly on her heels and came up to the side of her bed as Tharja began to push out of the sheets slowly. 

Robin rose a hand and created an ember of purple fire into her palm. “Let me see your hands,” she commanded curtly. 

Tharja blinked and shied away from the light, a flash of something akin to defiance in her eyes as she pushed the rest of the covers away from her naked upper body. She brought up her usual deadpan and slowly offered one hand to her. 

Robin snatched her by the wrist, causing Tharja to flinch. She looked down at it without emotion for what she was looking for, roughly turning her palm over and back before dropping it. Tharja didn’t make a sound in protest. “The other one.”

There was hesitation, this time. Robin stood patiently though she that was the last thing she felt right now. Tharja extended her other hand and Robin took it gently as she brought the dancing light of her fire close to it. 

It’s just as she suspected. Blood weeped down Tharja’s knuckles and the back of her hand, fresh bite marks dotting the skin glistening with deep, glossy maroon. She supposed the outcome of this didn’t matter since she didn’t even know how to pray.

“When did you break the skin?” Robin asked next. 

Tharja’s voice was tense. “I don’t know.”

“Think.” Robin pressed.

Tharja stuttered and Robin can see her looking back past the adrenaline and the shock and the excitement and the relief. “Maybe… maybe the stairwell.”

The new information did very little for her. She couldn’t even think of when they went up stairs. Robin just stared down at the blood. Tharja’s hand trembled in her own and she stared up at her in revered awe. Her nervous habits could easily be the end of them—biting her knuckles until the point of drawing blood. Robin was rightfully angry, though she wasn’t sure she knew how to convey anger at that moment.

The fire went out as Robin stopped feeding it magic. In the dark, she could barely make out wisps of purple magic encircle her fingertips as she pressed hard into the bites, rolling her knuckles and bone harshly underneath the pad of her thumb. Tharja hissed softly but didn’t utter a word. The high of the magic ebbed slightly. Robin drew her thumb back over her knuckles, feeling for stickiness. There was none any longer—just scabs.

“Robin.”

She felt like breaking Tharja’s hand with her own. She released it. “What?”

“That spell. In the library,” Tharja breathed and Robin felt her skin itch comfortably at the memory. She killed someone. A person. A human being. “And just now.”

“What of it?” Robin can barely hear her own voice. 

“Nosferatu. I thought you were above senseless killing.”

Robin wanted to laugh. She wanted to know every single reach of this magic. She couldn't be skipping corners for her dwindling moral’s sake. Of course she looked at those pages. She had her own little secrets she could keep. And though it came as a countermeasure and she had never intended to use such a spell, Robin had justified its use back in the library. 

Robin undid the knot keeping her robe on and shouldered it off lazily. “I am,” she noted flatly. “Was that not sensible, ending a life that threatened the quality of my own?” She asked as she dropped the robe at her feet and shifted onto the bed. 

“Robin. You’ve never ridden a high such as this, have you?” The note of dark amusement was laden on Tharja’s tongue. She watched her with a hypnotized intensity like a dazed snake lustfully watching a hungry badger. 

“I’m cross with you.” Livid. Angry. Frustrated. These were all things she should have felt but she just couldn't right now. Robin felt like she towered over Tharja. Her hands found either of her bare shoulders, pinning her down. ”You’re going to give us away.” 

“You overestimate their abilities. They’re too busy overturning every stone in the castle,” Tharja whispered past a twisted smile, unable to tear her eyes from her. “The real question is whether or not you trust that fool, Henry.”

“I should have killed him then,” Robin noted idly, which caused Tharja’s smile to widen. 

“You know. I find I quite like this side of you. Is this what you were afraid of when you first started all of this with me? I think it’s extremely becoming of you.”

Robin pricked her nails into Tharja’s shoulders, the strength tensing her joints something she didn't know she possessed—it was something borrowed, for certain. “You’re terribly comfortable for someone who is ruining the quality of my life.”

A throaty hum vibrated from Tharja’s throat and she shifted her hips up into hers. “So you’re threatening me,” she rasped. “Don't you know that you make it too easy to fall for you?” 

“You’re impossible.” Robin trailed a nail across her collarbone to her throat, her eyes following the motion indifferently. She could feel the cords of her throat move as Tharja swallowed. It felt like it would be easy to press down and snap her neck. 

Tharja laughed. It sounded more like a cough. “ _Please_ take me, I’m _begging_ you,” she breathed, squirming from underneath her and watching her mouth pointedly.

Robin was grossly enticed by the lewd request, considering her current state of arousal. She could put Tharja’s mouth to some actual use, as irredeemably functionless as it usually was. Yes, she could definitely work with that. 

She grinned without feeling it. “Fine,” she stated simply and Tharja’s eyes widened with disbelief. “You won't touch me unless I say so. Am I understood?” 

Tharja shivered and licked her lips, obediently nodding her head. “Understood.”

So Robin moved. She was not kind or gentle. It was a bit irritating, how welcomed such harshness was by Tharja. 

Robin yanked the rest of Tharja’s uniform off, the fabric digging into her skin and leaving red marks as she jerked and teared her body free. Tharja had a look of surmounting satisfaction at these developments, as if she wouldn’t have actually gone through with how she had handled her in the library. 

Robin was determined to abolish and rip to shreds any sort of doubt laid on her. She hated being doubted—as if she was some sort of liar, the sort of woman who came up short in what she had promised without reason. 

Tharja had a perfect body. Robin had thought about it before in passing, so brief as to not dedicate any real brain power to such an observation. Of course she had noticed what it was like to have Tharja pressed against her, out of breath and looking at her like she was otherworldly beyond her ken. Yes, she had seen Tharja’s unabashed desire for her and elected to ignore it plenty of times. Robin hadn’t thought herself capable of feeling attraction—romance wasn’t in her agenda, after all. But this wasn’t romance—wasn’t affection. It was laughably far from it. 

Robin had never been with anyone of any gender. But here, carnal instinct ruled. She touched herself enough to know what to do, that knowledge amplified by the borrowed power coursing through her veins. 

She had Tharja turn on her hands and knees, drunk off the sensation of having her at her complete mercy. It wasn’t as electrifying as having a man die at her hands, but it was an outlet—a way to siphon away and quell that monstrous desire.

Robin stood up on her knees, hands groping and clawing handfuls of Tharja’s ass. The harder she scratched, the more pitiful Tharja’s breathy sighs became, the more she arched her back and tried to press against her with her bare pussy. Robin wondered if she could break skin with her nails alone the way the flesh depressed into pillowy canyons around the hooks of her fingers. She would just have to find out. 

The angry marks her nails left raised red and Robin grew bored of their simplicity in design. Her nails were too blunt to break skin, but the intention was present in how angrily she dug in. She could make something much prettier with her mouth, she knew.

“Up.” Robin commanded and Tharja needed little other instruction.

Tharja rose from her hands, glimpsing over her shoulder as Robin wordlessly pushed her black hair from behind her neck and shoulders. Her other hand dug sharply into Tharja’s hip, keeping her in place with a silent warning, curling her nails into the bone there. 

Robin sealed a stretch of Tharja’s neck with her lips, earning a throaty hum as her tongue tasted her slightly salty skin in and her lips coaxed along her shoulder, sucking with varying levels of harshness as she experimented with the blooms of purples and reds she commanded from Tharja’s pale skin. When she sucked particularly hard, a note of lewd approval dropped from Tharja’s mouth.

But Robin also tired of that. The well of blood from underneath her lips as her teeth pricked and sunk into wanting flesh was much more appealing—it gartered more of a shuddering, visceral response that she could anchor her mind to. Tharja’s hips bucked with every deadly kiss, her breathing became labored as she sighed out Robin’s name, each flinch of pain followed by a strangled moan of ecstasy. 

Robin branded Tharja again with her teeth on the opposite side, reaching down to her navel and pushing past curls of dark hairs with seeking fingertips. Tharja made to spread her legs wider, whimpering at her potent touch, wanting more of her in the way she trembled. 

She pressed firmly in between her lower lips, the length of her slit already dripping with hot arousal, her every shift in between her legs slick and noisy. Robin brushed past Tharja’s clit, inattentive to it as she takes pleasure in the way Tharja whined her complaint and shifted impatiently, but said nothing. 

One segment of her middle finger slid into Tharja, and it was like inciting something undiscovered in her, the way Tharja moaned and the way Robin burned with the focus to hear her do it again. 

But, Robin drew away, teasing and fleeting in how she rewarded Tharja, utterly at her mercy. The frustration was evident in the way Tharja’s shoulders sank with her heavy huffs. Where a usual smart-mouthed retort would be, Tharja resigned to cursing and shifted back to her palms, hair falling past her face as she angled her hips back into Robin’s, wordlessly begging. 

It was an attractive idea, fucking Tharja into her bed. But she would just have to put her own spin on things. 

Robin sat back and reintroduced the segment of her finger inside of her from behind, pointing down as she slams the whole length of it to her knuckle in the next instance. The muffled moan she earned was low and fruitful, spikes of arousal stabbing her gut at the sound of it. 

The second finger soon accompanied the first and that was when Robin found she couldn’t quite quell the desire to hear that steady stream of curses and sweet nothings that she called out of Tharja. In one instance, she moved her fingers quick, like how she knew she liked herself. But it was much more interesting to vary her pace and slow, much more fun to hear the growls and grunts of what she knew was Tharja’s unwinding impatience. 

No matter, Tharja moaned like a bitch in heat, taking in her fingers with no resistance when she picked a steady, galloping pace. She rocked a bit in time with her palm, adapting easily to her inconsistent, nearly pointless rhythms.

The cadence of her panting and moaning grew in volume and Robin felt pride at how she had reduced Tharja to such, but she knew better than to let her get too out of control, lest her neighbors heard. 

“Quiet down or I’ll take your tongue next,” she warned, cold and indifferent and low as she breathed that warning over the kaleidoscope of bruised and blood-tinted skin she painted herself. 

The dangerous cool of her voice was accented by a razor sharp jab of her fingers. She curled hard down into her, striking her flesh in such a way that had Tharja’s mouth fall open, lax in contrast to how her whole body tensed. She gasped, the sound pitiful and breathless as she clenched right around her fingers. Robin was intrigued by it. 

Robin tweaked her fingers down again, Tharja’s hips bucked back as she clutched tightly onto the sheets. “ _Robin_ ,” she called her name like how she called her god, silky smooth like pretty poison. “There, there, _please_ , please—“

Tharja’s voice caught as Robin attacked the spot again, mind fuzzy as she fished for that reaction again. Tharja deflated into a trembling mess, her velvety whines in her ears like rich champagne as she looked back to Robin, her lusty lidded eyes begging more than her voice. Robin, out of reflex, grabbed a handful of Tharja’s hair and tugged, keeping those eyes on her as she obliged her. She didn’t want her to look away. 

Robin moved fast, curling and scratching so roughly, she could feel the shudders of blissful pain convulse around her fingers. She raked and raked furiously until Tharja’s raw voice broke as she fucked herself back into her hand hard, restricted by Robin’s tether at her scalp. 

Robin tasted iron in the air and she didn’t need to look at her palm to know that it was coated in bloody arousal when she pulled out of her unceremoniously. Tharja wiped at her smile, chuckling as if feverish under a whisper in spite of having not finished.

Robin released Tharja’s hair and she collapsed down onto the mattress, gasping for breath. It reminded Robin of the gasps that man in the library had taken in his one moment of reprieve. More arousal surged like molten hot magma to her core. 

She easily pushed Tharja onto her back, her body limp and pliable to her demands as she looked up at her so darkly—so reveredly. 

“Does Grima fuck you like this?” Robin asked, her voice a lazy drawl as she beckoned on an answer with a score of her nails down Tharja’s stomach, which she arched her hips into.

Tharja licked her lips and her hands slithered around her own breasts as she spoke, so scratchy and breathless. “M-my Lord does not. My Lord’s touch isn’t a candle next to yours. He makes me so sick to my stomach when He takes me, but you burn so wonderfully.”

Robin liked that answer. She smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

Tharja laid so readily, her hiss of pain coupled with a dark, throaty laughter as Robin hooked her hands on the back of Tharja’s knees and pulled her closer. 

Robin climbed up, thighs spread wide as she mounted Tharja’s face, the realization alit in unrestrained, smothering awe across her expression, the wisps of her breath licking and teasing at her core. But she did not leave herself suspended for long as she lowered her hips, indeed putting Tharja’s mouth to use. 

“I don’t care if you have to break your jaw, I better come soon,” Robin warned and there was no hesitation. 

Tharja hooked her hands onto either of Robin’s thighs, lapping like a starving animal, each dart of her tongue collecting her essence as she swallowed and panted noisily. Robin’s heady scent wafted up and gradually overpowered the air as Tharja’s tongue filled her and worked like a sloppy mop back and forth in between her folds.

She watched undividedly, the vibrations of Tharja’s elated moans running all the way up her spine. Had Robin not been completely stunted in her emotions, she might have moaned back at her. But now, she exhaled sharply, her thighs tensing whenever Tharja licked her particularly good. 

But she knew where she needed her. Black hair bunched up in Robin’s fingers as she took the reins and angled her head, correcting the direction of her tongue that she bucked once out of reflex when Tharja sucked just right on her clit. Robin clenched her jaw so tightly, she thought her teeth might break. 

She sighed out hard through her nose, her hips grinding on their own accord back down into Tharja’s face as the pent up pressure of her release balled and balled in her gut, a fiend that was trying to claw its way out at her core, desperately wanting to be unleashed. 

The hot puffs of air against her coupled with Tharja’s eager tongue flicking around her clit grew the monstrous heat inside of her to impossible heights. Vicious instinct took over as she pulled on Tharja’s hair harder and rode her tongue down into total submission. 

She came, shaking with the force of it as her entire body soared so high, it must have been sinful. Her pants for breaths and Tharja’s were in sync as she came down, still suspended out of her  
mind more than anything she’s ever known before. 

Then, she rolled off, chest and shoulders heaving as she noticed the sheen of sweat that coated her skin for the first time. Robin pulled on her robe and tied it, leaving Tharja dazed and watching languidly as she licked her lips and wiped her face clean.

She didn’t stop watching her even as she took a heavy seat in her desk chair, angled out towards the door as she sunk into it and caught her breath, still so strung and not knowing how to further work out that feeling. She turned her gaze back to Tharja, who was still watching her in coveted, lustful wanting. 

“You’re not done yet,” Robin said, lacing her fingers together in her lap as she looked back with expectation. “Not until I tell you that you are.”

And Tharja grinned, catlike as she sprawled out on the bed and began to touch herself, performing for her in such fervor, it was a wonder if Tharja had done something similar before. Robin didn’t know for how long, but she just watched, leaning on either arm of her chair and with varying levels of indifference and focus—anything to distract from the burn in her chest, from the desire to cast that fucking spell again. 

“Stop,” Robin finally instructed and Tharja collapsed in a tired mess, hair sticking to her face, her bare chest rising and falling sporadically. “Sleep. We have some things to discuss tomorrow.”

Tharja sighed and stretched out contently, looking as though she was about to say something to her the way her mouth parted, but she withheld it and laid down in the tangled sheets. She was asleep within the hour. 

Robin, on the other hand, didn’t sleep a lick all night. In the morning when the high finally ebbed away and faded into cold sobriety, she felt like a shadow of the person she was last night, realizing how truly empty she felt.

The panic didn’t settle in where she expected it. The addiction—the deathly need to return to that high didn’t scare her. The headache alit like a raging wildfire behind her eyes didn’t make her want to vomit out _all_ of her insides. 

The denial, however, was strong and overwhelming like the tight tendrils breaking that man’s throat. 

She lived another day. No one could threaten that. No one ever would, as long as she could help it. It was necessary. It was to be expected. It wasn’t even her fault. It was even as far away in her mind like a dream. 

Yes, she must have dreamt it. All of it. She must have dreamed too late into the afternoon and she was due to wake up in front of towers of tomes, 8 years old again with her hands wrapped in dirty linens from the burns she gave herself by being careless with fire spells. 

She would return to childlike innocence where things were much simpler when she managed to open her eyes to the dusty library. 

The library. Robin dug crescents into the wood of her chair with her nails as she screwed her eyes shut. How she wanted that _feeling_ again. 

Robin scoffed bitterly. She didn’t know who she had been kidding, acting as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She was a fool to try and play as any other part. 

She had been a monster the entire time.


End file.
